The Travels of Emile Sigerson
by Elizabeth Arian
Summary: What really happened to Holmes during his three year hiatus? A story entirely about Holmes and his travels in Tibet, India and...maybe a bit further...read and find out...COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer : I own everything you don't recognise as someone elses. _

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**The Travels of Emile Sigerson.**

**Chapter One. The Deception.**

The day he had left Watson at the Reichenbach falls was the hardest of his life – and he had known hardship. Watching his dearest friend – his only friend in such pain was torment, a torment he never knew he was able to feel. It almost made him wish Watson's pain were valid, that he had been lying dead at the bottom of the falls. That is what he had intended, what he had prepared himself for. Death. That sweet breathless release from all he had suffered, and yet. Here he was, alive, and his greatest enemy was dead. He had triumphed and instead of rejoicing he felt wretched, felt that life had finally come to an end, he no longer wished to be Sherlock Holmes. And then an idea struck him, it occurred to him what an opportunity fate had placed in his way. He no longer had to be Sherlock Holmes, the world thought him dead, why disillusion them? He could choose to be whoever he wanted, he could forget his past life and disappear; leave Watson to the life he should always have had, leave him to his Mary and to peace. By vanishing Holmes could ensure his safety.

The thoughts flitted through his head in a flash and he glanced back down to the path to see Watson being led away by two policemen, his head buried in his hands and his eyes closed by tears. Holmes felt a pang in his chest but dismissed it as he had done for years, emotion should never be allowed to cloud one's judgement. It was a rule Holmes had lived by and he was not about to give it up now. As soon as he was certain Watson and the search party had gone, he emerged from his hiding place. He sighed as he glanced around him at the sheer rock face, as he looked, and without warning, a rock whizzed past his head and ricocheted off the rocks below. Holmes ducked back into the recess and tried to control his breathing. His body was still exhausted from his climb to this point and his heart was beating wildly, seeing Watson and having to face his guilt had not helped his nerves and now he was not alone. He was being watched. He was surprised at how the thought terrified him, he supposed it was shock. Cautiously he peered out of the recess and looked up, a man's figure quickly disappeared but Holmes knew the face. Moran. Of course Moriarty had not been alone; he was naïve to have thought so. Looking around him Holmes felt a sudden rush of hopelessness rush over him, he pushed it to the back of his mind and concluded the only course of action would be to face Moran.

Hauling himself up to the ledge above Holmes winced as a jagged rock tore his shirt and warm blood began to trickle down his chest. Lying flat on the grassy ledge Holmes held his breath and listened- silence. Moran had not gone of that he was sure, the man was an expert hunter and he would not give up so easily. Holmes crawled forwards pausing every so often to listen for any sign, his heart was beating furiously and the blood had begun to dry and congeal on his clothes. He did not notice the pain; the adrenalin rushing through his veins was enough to sustain him. Raising himself to his knees Holmes peered about him, still nothing, he raised an eyebrow to no-one in particular and stood, maybe Moran had gone. Straightening himself Holmes ran, he ran forwards, away - not knowing where he was running to. After about half a mile he collapsed to the floor in a breathless heap and cried. Tears of relief and shock and pain all mingled together to form a despair such as Holmes had only felt once before, a feeling he had thought long dead. Shaking from his sobs and shivering from the cold Holmes reined his emotions in and returned to his normal, practical self.

He fled, the only option left open to him, he ran away from all he had known and all he had loved. Yes, he had loved. His home, the quiet familiarity of London, the reassurance of those faces he had come to know. The shock of never seeing them again was rather too much to bear. Still, he pushed this emotion to the back of his mind, perhaps to be returned to. He had discussed with Watson his idea of the mind as an attic, and like an attic, pushed to the furthest, darkest recesses were those things that one would rather forget than ever return to again. It was so with Holmes. There were recesses of his mind that were his and his alone, places he repressed so that he could continue living.

He ended up in Florence, how he got there he could not recall. The time between leaving the falls and arriving in Italy were a haze that Holmes could not remember. But he was here, and alive. He found lodgings and slept, he slept for days. When he awoke he was greeted by a rather strange looking creature of about sixteen years, clad head to toe in rags she glared at him from the windowsill. Holmes sat up in his bed and was relieved to find he was wearing clothes, the blood on his chest however, had left a livid stain and the girl was staring at him as if he had lost his mind. Holmes smiled at her and tried to reassure her – in Italian – that he was no threat to her. She hesitantly smiled back and asked if he would like food, Holmes replied that he would and she dashed off without another word.

An hour or so later and the dishevelled man that had rather unceremoniously dumped himself on their doorstep begging for sleep, reappeared as a clean-shaven respectable gentleman, looking to the world as if on holiday. The young girl that had so glared at him upon his awakening now stared at him in awe and he smiled, thanking her for the food and the clean clothes. She nodded absent-mindedly and asked his name. Holmes thought for a while before answering, how does one decide upon one's own name?

"Emile Sigerson" he replied. Emile had been his grandfather's name and Sigerson his father. Neither name evoked particularly pleasant memories within him but it was as good a name as any when put on the spot. The girl smiled and replied that her name was Angelique. Holmes replied that it was a suitable name for one who had saved him by providing food and shelter. The girl looked somewhat puzzled by this remark but smiled none the less. Edging closer to him, she took his hand. Holmes did not recoil as he usually would have done from any human contact; he had already changed his name why not also change his character? She smiled and asked if he knew anyone in Florence? Holmes replied that he did not. She asked if he would like to be introduced to her father? Holmes said he would and was led from his room down some steps that looked as if they were held together by pure will rather than anything physical and into a surprisingly cosy kitchen at the back of the house.

"Papa? Papa?" Angelique's voice reminded Holmes of a music box his mother had had when he was a child, a tinny sort of music that evoked simple pleasures. She released his hand and ran to a room that was tucked into a corner. Holmes listened as a man's voice trickled into the room, a strong voice that contained smiles and joy. Holmes felt rather apprehensive at this sudden social situation. Emerging from the corner room appeared a man in his mid to late forties, a little younger than Holmes himself and smiling from ear to ear.

"Papa this is Mr. Sigerson."

Angelique was beaming up at Holmes who felt rather awkward at being introduced by a mere slip of a girl, he held out his hand and felt it grasped in as strong a grip as his own.

"I am sorry for my abrupt arrival." Holmes spoke in Italian but his accent was detectable for Angelique's father replied in English.

"That is quite alright Mr. Sigerson, we were very distressed, especially Angelique, she stayed by your bedside until you woke."

Holmes favoured the girl with a smile; she smiled back coquettishly and hung off her father's arm.

"I am very grateful to you for your care when you could have easily thrown me out." Holmes continued the conversation in English.

"We would not have done that sir, I have not always lived this way and I can recognise a gentleman when I see one."

Holmes cleared his throat and smiled awkwardly.

"And how did you know that Sir? I'm sorry I do not know your name."

"Mario, Mario Conaveli. This, as you know, is my daughter. We live here alone, her mother died in childbirth."

"Oh I am very sorry to hear that."

Mario nodded his head in acknowledgement before continuing,

"You spoke like a gentleman and your clothes are of the more expensive kind, besides you have a bearing about you that suggests breeding."

Holmes smiled; here was a man after his own heart.

"Do you not find it difficult here? Without a female influence for the girl?" Holmes enquired, feeling he should perhaps attempt genial conversation.

"We manage well enough on our own." Angelique gazed up at her father in adoration and he flicked her arm, as if commanded she set about laying tea cups and arranging food. Mario indicated a seat, which Holmes took.

"What brings you here Mr. Sigerson? And in such a state." Mario smiled and took his tea from Angelique.

"I do not know where to begin. I am Swiss by birth," And so the lie begins thought Holmes as he concocted some tale to satisfy their curiosity and ensure their suspicions, for he was certain his 'death' must have reached the press by now, were not roused. When he had finished Mario whistled under his breath.

"That is quite a story sir."

Holmes raised an eyebrow and smiled. It certainly was, quite the most romantic lie he had ever told, Watson would have beamed with pride.

"Yes well; and so here you find me, attempting to start a new life."

Mario slapped his hand on the table, waking Angelique from her dream, throughout Holmes' speech she had been resting her head on one hand gazing at him, unfortunately for Angelique she was at that susceptible age when it is so easy to fall in love, especially with romantic foreigners who have fought death and are now drinking tea at your kitchen table.

"Well you are to start here!" Mario exclaimed with all the passion of an Italian. Holmes was rather taken aback.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Here, you must live here!"

Holmes looked around him attempting to keep the questioning look from his face. Still, he thought, he had no other options.

"That is most of kind of you Mr. Conaveli."

"Mario, Mario." He insisted, taking Holmes' hand and smiling stupidly at him. Angelique had now stood and was also beaming at Holmes, who felt rather as if he were facing a firing squad.

"Then that is settled I accept your hospitality with gratitude for your kindness."

"Not at all Mr. Sigerson it will be a pleasure to have more refined company about the house, especially for Angelique."

At which point she dropped the cup she was carrying, Holmes smiled and cleared his throat.

"Yes, thank you. I will not forget your kindness."

Mario almost flushed and bowed slightly in Holmes' direction.

"Erm…could you tell me where the nearest telegraph office is?" Holmes was already glancing out of the window, planning his next move.

"Certainly," Mario replied, guiding Holmes towards the door, "We are quite near to the town, so follow the road down, turn left and it's the first building on your right."

Holmes thanked him and suddenly realising he had no coat or hat, turned rather desperately to Mario who seemed to read his mind and laughed.

"They are here." He smiled, producing Holmes' coat from behind a door, "I'm afraid you came with no hat, but I do have this one for you to use if you wish?"

He produced a rather battered, brown felt hat which Holmes accepted gratefully, wishing to blend in rather than appear as a foreign traveller. After disentangling himself from Mario's grasp Holmes set out on his first day as Emile Sigerson, there was one thing to be done however before the transformation was complete. He entered the dusty and stiflingly hot telegraph office and despatched a rapid telegram to his brother in London, which ran;

AM WELL STOP NEED FUNDS STOP WIRE TO FLORENCE POST STOP NAME OF EMILE SIGERSON STOP KEEP WATCH OVER W STOP REGARDS SH STOP

He knew it was risky to send a wire so soon but he needed money, he could not live off people's kindness forever. He smiled as he pondered the sort of reaction that would elicit from his dear brother. Handing it to the girl behind the desk, Holmes smiled and was surprised to receive a smile in return. He was happy to play this game for the time being, until he was sure there was no-one following, that no-one knew he was alive. Yes, until then he would play the part of Emile Sigerson with flair, he would be the very antithesis of Sherlock Holmes, he would be charming and flirtatious and merry, he would compliment women and he would court them. Holmes winced inwardly as he winked at the girl before leaving. All to keep up the charade he thought, it was absurd, but he had little choice.

There was almost a spring in the gentleman's step as he left the telegraph office that bright morning in Florence, to the casual observer he was well over six feet and striking, striking in a jaunty sort of way, a gentleman certainly but with a casual air that made one feel at ease around him, there was a sparkle in the eye and a twitch to the eyebrow that attracted attention and the smile that was constantly seen on his face betrayed nothing of the torment within, nothing of the man who was fighting to keep hidden, fighting for his very life.

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_So after a brief break I reappear with a brand new story, Holmes' hiatus has always intrigued me, this is my take on it. I hope you enjoy. Reviews are always welcome and I will be very grateful for any. _


	2. Chapter 2 Revealed

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Chapter Two. Revealed.

Angelique Conaveli was a very pretty girl, not beautiful exactly, not striking, but pretty enough to look at. These were the thoughts running through Holmes' head as he sat one lazy afternoon in her garden, watching her peg the washing out. That is, she would have been pretty if she was a little cleaner. Not that the girl was dirty, you understand, she was just a little, well unrefined. Her clothes were of the very poorest variety and her hands were worked to the very limit of their capabilities, the girl herself was often worked until she could barely stand; taking care of the needs of a full boarding house- however run down – made the child of sixteen resemble a woman of much later years. Still, thought Holmes, she would one day perhaps make a very passable bride. He was awoken from his reveries by the appearance of the girl herself at his side.

"Do you require anything Mr. Sigerson?" She said in her lilting English that was as perfect as her father's. Holmes vaguely wondered where they had both learned their English to be so proficient in it and what had occurred to bring them to their current situation.

"No thank you Angelique." He replied, he had started calling her Miss. Conaveli but she wrinkled her nose at him and said she much preferred Angelique, or Angel if he preferred. Holmes was wary of calling any woman by her first name and was gradually working his way up to Angel. She sat herself down on the step next to him and sighed. Holmes glanced at her as she ran a tired hand through her long hair that was slipping from the clips she used to hold it up.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, taking his pipe from his mouth. Another liberty he had taken around her was smoking, but she had not objected when he asked, she said she quite liked the smell and all but begged him to use the house as his own and do as he pleased. She sighed again.

"No, just work, there is too much for me."

She sighed once more and Holmes smiled at her forlorn face. He slid an arm around her shoulders.

"But you do it exceedingly well dear."

She looked up at him and smiled. Holmes was extremely uncomfortable with his behaviour but he could see that the girl had taken a shine to him and he was keen to prevent further investigation into his character by her. She was a sharp girl and he had noticed some Italian versions of the good doctor's stories lying around the house and he was aware of her romantic turn of mind, he did not want her assuming things so he continued his charade.

"I could make some tea?" She suggested, lifting her head up, the light suddenly returning to her eyes at the prospect of doing something to please him.

"That would be very nice." Holmes agreed, smiling after her as she jumped out of his grasp and into the house. Holmes was left alone with his thoughts; he took out a slip of paper from his jacket pocket and smiled as he glanced at it. It was from his brother and was as succinct and to the point as ever.

GLAD TO HEAR IT STOP W IS COPING STOP DO NOT SPEND THIS ALL AT ONCE STOP KEEP ME INFORMED STOP M

He had set up an account in the name of Emile Sigerson to which his brother would transfer the funds he needed to survuve. he wanted to do something for the Conaveli's but could think of nothing that would not betray him, so he kept quiet and helped in whatever superficial way he could with the running of the house. there were many guest to Mario's quiet establishment, in spite of its appearance it was a homely place and Mario was well respected in the town, therefore word spread and the people came. Travellers mostly, to which Holmes would engage in conversation to find out whatever he could about home - and how his death had affected the outside world. he could find out very little from the press, other than a brief report outlining the basic facts - all of which were wrong, Holmes could discover nothing. he felt a pang of remorse as he thought of home but concluded his course of action was the best one and in the end, the only one open to him.

His train of thought was broken by the reappearance of Angelique with the tea tray. Holmes stood to greet her and relieve her of it, he set it down on the patio table near the kitchen window the only part of Mario's extensive garden that enjoyed any shade, and underneath his buoyant exterior Holmes was still an Englishman, more accustomed to the cold that this rather stifling Italian summer.

"Thank you Angel." he said without thinking, Angel's head shot up and she stared at him in amazement. he paused in his pouring and looked at her and smiled - a smile that hid a thousand torments. Sitting down he poured them both a cup of tea.

"Where's your father this afternoon?" Holmes asked, picking up his tea cup.

"With the police." Angel replied, her eyes half shut from the glaring sunlight.

"The police?" Holmes sat up straighter, his cup poised in mid-air.

"Mmmm, something about the amount of people we take in."

"Oh." Holmes relaxed his position and continued sipping his tea.

"How long will you stay Mr. Sigerson?"

"What?" He asked, lancing at her, his mind already far away, "Oh I don't know as long as it takes."

"As long as what takes?" She asked, her eyes now fully open.

Damn, he thought to himself, he was forever arousing this girl's suspicions.

"Just some business. Angel darling," he inwardly died as he said the words, "thank you for the tea but there is something I really must attend to."

Angel nodded and watched his retreating figure disappear into the house, she watched him with wonder in her eyes for a while before reality set back in and she began to clear away the tea things.

Holmes ran up to his room on the top floor and nearly died from the heat, the room he had rather unceremoniously occupied some weeks ago was now in a state of total disarray as he became more of a tenant. there were local papers, books and maps strewn everywhere, he did not know where his journey was to take him but he was certain he could not stay in Florence forever, so he was constantly ready for departure. he picked up his hat and coat and fled back down the stairs and into the street, if Mario was with the police then he wanted to know what was going on, as much as he disliked the official forces in any country, he appreciated their importance and valued their assistance. As he walked through the busy city streets, he realised how conspicuous he must have looked. Florence was a very Italian city and in spite of his best efforts Holmes was simply not an Italian, he was British to his very core and anything ostentatious, flamboyant or expressive was certainly not his forte. He smiled at two women selling flowers as he passed them, smiling more at the abundance of colours they presented to him than to their actual appearance but he was becoming so used to the character of Emile Sigerson that smiling at women was no longer turning out to be the chore it had been, he now considered what sort of use a woman might have in a crisis, not that he thought anything more than that would ever happen, he had not completely abandoned his character, but he thought making contact with the women of the town would not be such a bad thing should the need for a female presence ever occur. As he walked his thoughts drifted to Angel, the girl was causing his conscience some problems, he was aware of her increasing infatuation and was unaccustomed to the feeling. He had never before had any woman in love with him - that he knew of, and he had no idea how to deal with the situation and the girl was so young...Before he could come to a conclusion about her he was at the police station and Mario was just exiting, he smiled as he recognised him.

"Mr. Sigerson!" he exclaimed, shaking Holmes' hand, "How good to see you! What are you doing here?"

"Oh passport issues that's all." He smiled as he realised how easy this lying was becoming. You?"

Mario snorted,

"Stupid fools telling me how to run my business! Accusing me of allowing too many people to stay at my boarding house! It is a boarding house no? What am I to do? Turn them out?"

Holmes smiled at Mario's indignation but offered no advice.

"Do you need me to come with you?" Mario continued, "Maybe translate?"

"No no, thank you I believe I can manage."

"Very well, good luck."

Mario tipped his hat to Holmes and sauntered down the steps, Holmes watched him go before he made his entrance. Seated at the desk was a sallow looking young man who was sweating profusely and looking rather bored.

"Mm?" He grunted.

"May I speak to whoever's in charge?" Holmes once more spoke in Italin to the man, he raised his eyebrows and nodded. Even as Emile Sigerson, Holmes had a commanding presence and his commands were usually obeyed without question - a quality that Holmes almost took for granted. The man disappeared behind the desk and returned a moment later with a tall, tanned gentleman in short sleeves with a dark moustache and heavy, thick eyebrows.

"May I help you?" His voice was deep and his accent strong so that Holmes had to listen carefully to understand him.

"Yes may I have a word in private?"

The man raised one eyebrow but nodded,

"Certainly, please come this way."

The young man Holmes had encountered before lifted the counter of his desk and allowed Holmes through. The man with the dark moustache led Holmes through a crowded office into a small room beyond, which to Holmes' eternal gratitude was cool.

"How can help you Mr?"

"Sigerson. Emile Sigerson."

"Mr. Sigerson." The man smiled and offered Holmes a seat which he took.

"I am travelling in your country under rather unusual circumstances and I am acting under advice from the British government." Holmes started, unsure that his brother's idea was the best one.

"Indeed."

"Yes, and well, it is rather complicated."

"I can imagine it is Mr. Holmes."

Holmes' eyes shot up and locked the man in a steadfast gaze.

"I'm sorry?"

"Your brother sent us a wire to expect you."

Holmes smiled, damn the man, he could never fathom his brother's actions. Why send him a wire requesting his assistance then wire the Italian police warning them of his arrival? The man had no morals.

"I see, well at least that takes care of unnecessary introductions and complicated stories."

"It does. I suggest we continue the conversation in English Mr. Holmes. I am Inspector Vanni and I am at your assistance."

"I'm very glad to hear it, I am grateful for any assistance I fear I rather stand out in your country."

"Oh I don't know Mr. Holmes, I see the women look at you and how you smile as you came in I think you fit in very well."

Holmes felt himself grow hot.

"Don't you think it rather warm in here?" He asked, loosening his collar.

The man on the front desk jumped as he heard a loud laugh coming from the back room, he turned slowly in his chair and looked fearfully at the closed door, the laugh was loud and deep and what disturbed the young man more was that he had heard Inspector Vanni laugh only once before and it had preceded the worst crime in Italian history, the young man was sure that whatever was to follow the Inspector's laugh would not be beneficial to anyone concerned...


	3. Chapter 3 A Peculiar Man

_Serious lack of reviews here! Am I doing something you don't like? All suggestions and reviews are gratefully appreciated and any questions will be answered!_**

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**Chapter Three. A Peculiar Man.**

Holmes had found the Inspector to be a very peculiar man, but then he was finding everything here to be most peculiar. It was late on that same night that Holmes was perched on his windowsill gazing out into the warm Italian night and daydreaming. It was not something he had done very much of before but now that he seemed to have an abundance of time on his hands he found his mind frequently drifted between time and place, and what was perhaps most surprising, was that he was quite content to let it do so. His mind tonight was drifting between his brother and the Inspector. His brother had wired to him to suggest that while he was 'on holiday' he may as well make himself useful - which infuriated Holmes because he had very little desire to be useful – especially to his brother. Mycroft had been extremely unforthcoming about what it was he actually wanted done, he had merely listed a number of people to whom Holmes should speak and make himself known and that was that, no other word, no suggestion as to what it was Holmes was allowing himself to be blindly led into. He sighed, the air was cool and he welcomed it after the sticky heat of the day. It had been a hard day, filled with constant thoughts of home and the identity he had left behind.

His mind drifted to Angel, she had greeted him upon his return. Looking as thin and tired as ever, he had smiled at her. He pondered on how his behaviour had begun to change around her, really without his knowing of it, he shuddered to think how like his character he was becoming. He missed Sherlock Holmes and already detested Emile Sigerson, he missed Watson...the thought of his friend made Holmes pause and reflect. He was holding his pipe loosely in his one hand an holding the window sill with his other when he became aware of someone staring at him, looking around, he saw Angel standing in his doorway.

"What are you doing awake?" He asked, moving away from the window sill and moving toward her, "It's almost two in the morning."

She nodded sleepily at him,

"New tenants," She replied, half asleep. she stumbled forwards and Holmes deftly stepped forwards and caught her, seating on the edge of his bed he allowed her to continue, "Arrived late and wanted dinner."

Her English always became stunted when she was tired,

"You should be in bed Angel." Holmes said, trying not to flinch when her head fell to his shoulder, he felt her nod.

"I wondered if papa gave you message."

"What message?"

"From Inspector of police, he called earlier for you but you were walking, papa took message."

"No, I did not receive it."

Holmes ran the stem of his pipe along his lower lip and tried to think, he needed to be rid of this girl.

"Come on." He said, with an air of finality and swept Angel up into his arms. She was too tired to protest and in her half asleep state rather liked being swept up into the arms of the man she had convinced herself she was in love with. Holmes placed her gently on her bed in her arm, by which point she was asleep, he covered her over and smiled at her, as she smiled back at him in her sleep. Closing her door, he sighed, he could not take much more of this. Running as silently as he could down the two flights of stari that led to the kitchen, he stopped just outside to ensure Mario was alone, he could hear no-one and so he entered.

"Mario?" He called out hesitantly, edging his way into the kitchen, the fire was still going and there was a gas lamp flickering on the table. Holmes heard a muffled sound from within and called again.

"Mr. Sigerson?" Mario's voice appeared before he did and Holmes smiled as he tripped over a pile of Angel's washing.

"That girl, in a dream world no?" Mario smiled as he picked up the fallen clothes.

Holmes simply nodded.

"She told me you had a message for me?"

"A message?"

"Yes from the Inspector at the police station."

"No sir, no message, no-one called for you today. Oh, but there is a telegram on the table for you."

Holmes raised an eyebrow and followed Mario's outstretched hand, he picked up the slip of paper and opened it;

BE WARY STOP TROUBLE STOP SEE POLICE ASAP STOP MW DEAD STOP JW DISTRAUGHT STOP DOES THAT CONVINCE YOU? STOP WE NEED TO SPEAK STOP WILL BE IN TOUCH STOP M STOP

Holmes sighed. His thoughts ran to Watson and wanted to scream out in sympathy, but he but his tongue. He was annoyed with Mycroft why did he insist on such cryptic missives?

"Bad news?" Mario asked, having replaced the washing to its rightful place.

"Just news from home. News I would rather not have had, but nothing serious."

Mario smiled,

"She must have been a wonderful woman."

"Hmm? What?" Holmes said, turning the telegram over in his hands.

"The woman you are running away from."

"Er, yes i suppose she was."

Holmes eyes clouded over as he thought about Mary Watson and how much the doctor had loved her, still, there was nothing he could do from here.

"You are a peculiar man Mr. Sigerson."

"Why do you say that?"

"It is the middle of the night and here you are strolling around the house with a look of worry on your face and asking me questions about messages from the police, i don't know why I let you stay here."

Mario was beaming at Holmes who smiled back,

"No Mario neither do I. Well thank you for the telegram. Goodnight."

Taking the stairs two at a time Holmes wondered what trouble had meant, trouble from whom and why had Mario lied to him, or was Angel lying to him? No, he could not think that of the girl. He cursed himself for taking on this damn character, he was becoming as sentimental as Watson. Watson. What he must be going through. Holmes pushed the thought to the back of his mind, he had more important things to worry about. What did Mycroft mean does that convince you? How could Mary Watson's death convince him of anything? He was too tired for this. He lay down in his bed and stared at the ceiling, tomorrow he would go to the police and talk to Angel, one of them was lying to him and he wanted to know why.


	4. Chapter 4 Discovered

_Next chapter. Please please review or I may abandon this if no-one's reading it!_

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**Chapter Four. Discovered.**

Holmes was reluctant to pursue his investigations into the Conaveli's without further evidence of their deceit. He could not believe that Angel was betraying him, at least not consciously; he had become quite fond of her but he doubted that she had the mental capacity to willingly deceive, and the way she looked at him still convinced him that she cared too much for him to lie to him. That only left her father, but still he was unsure, Mario had never displayed any animosity toward him but he had to admit that the whole situation with the Conaveli's was a strange one. How easily they had taken him in, not that he was one to doubt the credits of humanity, but he was wary when it was so glaringly portrayed to him. He was suspicious and he needed his suspicions confirmed or denied in order to continue living under their roof.

It was early morning and Holmes was just stirring when he heard voices outside his door. Quiet voices, but his ears were finely tuned to detect any noise. He sat up in bed and listened, it was a girl's voice, Angel's, and she sounded as if she were crying. A man interrupted her several times, a man who possessed a harsh aggressive voice. Holmes strained to listen but could not make out words. Hastily dressing he slid silently to the door and bent down, they were speaking in Italian and it was definitely Angel he could hear and she was most certainly crying. She cried out as if in pain and Holmes tensed, the man growled something at her and Holmes heard him descend the stairs, he heard Angel sob and heard her body slide to the floor, grasping the door and flinging it open he found her curled up and sobbing. At his voice, she looked up; her face was stained with tears and her clothes torn. Holmes dropped to his knees beside her and she clung to him and cried. He could feel nothing but loathing toward the man who had made her this way but could feel no sympathy for the girl, his mind was not thinking of her pain, only of the problem he was now faced with. He looked down at her and absent-mindedly stroked her hair, playing with emotion but feeling nothing.

"What's wrong Angel?" he asked quietly as he felt her sobs become less frequent, "Who was that man?"

She coughed and straightened up, her hands still grasping Holmes' arm.

"He…he made me promise."

"Promise what?"

"That I would not tell you."

"Angel you have to tell me."

She looked at him in silence for a while before making up her mind and, gripping his arm tighter, she spoke in a voice that was so quiet Holmes was forced to lean forward to hear her.

"He...he wants to kill you, he says you killed his friend, that is why you run and why you end up here, that you are a bad man that should be punished."

Holmes slid back off his heels and fell flat against the wall. It was true, someone in this house had betrayed him, he was now convinced from her reaction that it was not Angel, that they were merely using her to get to him, but there was someone. Still, what did it matter now? They had found him, he knew it would not be long but even so, he was not as prepared as he would have liked.

"What did you tell him Angel?" Holmes struggled to keep his voice under control, it was not the girl's fault after all and he deeply regretted involving her in his dangerous life.

"I told them you were not bad man, that you were very kind to me and I could not believe you would kill any man who did not deserve it."

He smiled at her; maybe she was not so slow after all.

"You are right."

She blinked up at him.

"Then you did kill?" She asked in a hushed voice. Holmes frowned, he did not like to be the man responsible for taking this girl's innocence but he had done so none the less.

"Yes, but to a man who deserved it." _And it was not strictly my fault_, he thought but did not say.

"And that is why you are here?"

Holmes nodded.

"Oh."

Angel dropped her head and released her grip on his arm.

"Are you upset with me Angel?" He didn't know why he asked the question, but ever since his escape from Reichenbach he had felt the need for someone to justify his actions, he detested taking a life – was not his career spent in the persecution of those who did? And yet he had to know that someone apart from himself felt that is decision at the falls had been the right one, that it was kill or be killed, that Moriarty's death was inevitable. But was it? He could not decide. And now he felt himself hold his breath as he waited for the girl's answer. Finally she looked up at him and smiled,

"No, I am not upset, I respect you for it."

Without thinking Holmes leaned forward and kissed the girl's forehead. She said nothing but gazed at him with sparkling eyes.

"Come." He commanded, helping her to her feet.

"I don't want to go to my room, he will find me and he will kill me for telling you."

There was genuine fear in her eyes as she leaned helplessly on his arm. Holmes sighed; women would be the death of him.

"Very well, you may sleep in my room, although heaven knows what your father will do if he finds out."

She smiled and then stopped abruptly.

"What is it?" Holmes asked, somehow fearing the worst.

"My work, I have to start work."

"Now? It's almost four in the morning."

"Yes, now is when I start my work."

Holmes sighed,

"Not today, you need sleep, look at yourself, you can barely stand."

He propelled her into his room, ignoring her protests and forced her to lie down.

"Sleep child." Holmes' voice seemed to soothe her and eventually she drifted into sleep. Holmes sat on the windowsill feeling the cool morning air soothe his own shattered nerves as the sun rose on a sleepy Florence. He wondered about his next move, he wondered who the man could have been – one of Moran's men? Had he been followed from Switzerland to here? Or had someone betrayed him? He bitterly missed Watson at moments like these, for he desperately needed someone whom he could test theories on and the girl was no use, she was scared half to death by that man, who knew what may happen if he entrusted his secret to her and yet, ironically, there was no one else whom he could trust. He could not stay inactive, he had to be doing something, he left Angel sleeping and made his way downstairs, there was little activity in the house at that time of the morning but he could hear Mario whistling in the kitchen and silently passed the door and disappeared out into the street. Walking fast, he made his way to the police station; sure enough there was the sleepy looking youth he had encountered before.

"I need to see the Inspector."

"He's not here sir." The youth drawled.

"I repeat I need to see the inspector." Holmes persisted, he knew the man was here and he wasn't going to be fobbed off.

"And I telling you he ain't here!"

"It's alright Gio."

He heard the inspector's voice come drawling through the building towards him and Holmes smiled, deceitful man, but he was his only lifeline in this place.

"Come through Mr…Sigerson."

There was a discernable pause as he said his name which the sleepy youth noticed but said nothing, Holmes nodded in the Inspector's direction and followed him through to a back office where they were both seated.

"It is very early Mr. Holmes." The inspector drawled his smooth Italian voice grating on every one of Holmes' nerves.

"I realise that and I apologise, but seeing as you're here I need to contact my brother – or at the very least I need someone in this city I can trust."

The inspector raised a jet black eyebrow.

"Why do you say that?"

"A man threatened Angel this morning, he was in the house, and he told her he was going to kill me."

"Angel?" There was a hint of a smile playing around the Inspector's mouth which Holmes detested.

"Miss. Conaveli."

"Oh indeed. And she was not harmed?"

"No she was not - this time - but there may be a next time. How did they find me Inspector? Can you tell me if there is any one else who knows of my identity, of my presence here in Florence?"

Inspector… shook his head.

"There is no-one."

"There must be," Holmes persisted, "How else would they know I was here and staying at that particular guest house?"

"Someone within the house?"

Holmes sighed, damn the man and his slowness.

"Yes, well of course I came here because I had not thought of that!"

He did not mean to snap but this man was trying his patience and he was sorely tried as it was.

"I realise that my mental acumen is far behind yours Mr. Holmes but I am here to help you."

Holmes sighed again, a far too common occurrence these days,

"Yes, of course, I am sorry Inspector."

"Not at all. Of course we can wire your brother if you wish but until he provides us with any information that will be of use, I can give you one of our men who will be happy to chaperone you…"

"_Chaperone_ me?" Holmes cut him off and sprang forward in his seat, gripping the arms with his white hands, "Inspector I do not need chaperoning I need information! How am I to effectively bring this man to justice if I am not free to act as I wish."

"You are not free to act as you wish if I were to leave you alone Mr. Holmes. You are dead remember and unfortunately must act as such, you must not arouse any more suspicion in your activities than there already is, you may move around this city as you please but if you are here as a detective then you go with _my_ man around _my _city or you go not at all."

Holmes grunted quietly.

"Very well, but I want no-one like that slovenly youth out there."

Inspector … laughed.

"No Mr. Holmes, he is special, he stays here. I give you … he is one of our best, I think you will like him, he is not unlike you."

Holmes sincerely doubted that but said nothing; he merely smiled in mock gratitude.

"I am grateful, inspector. Do you wish me to meet him here?"

"No, no he will come to the Conaveli's tomorrow morning, shall we say 9.30?"

"Yes fine. Well thank you Inspector." Holmes shook the man's hand before quickly taking his leave. Once into the street he leaned against a wall and closed his eyes, the one thing he could do without was interference and that was precisely what he was getting, he still did not know who had betrayed him and while he was now sure it was neither of the Conaveli's it meant that he was being watched, and by someone who was undoubtedly working for Moran. He longed for London and familiarity; sighing and straightening himself, he set off for home – wherever that was….


	5. Chapter 5 Benji

**Chapter Five. Benji.**

It was mid-morning by the time Holmes found himself back at the Conaveli's, he had wired Mycroft requesting money and information but he was tense, the talk with the Inspector and the prospect of meeting an unwanted 'guide' had made Holmes uncharacteristically nervous. He had wandered the streets of Florence for a few hours contemplating his current situation and the options open to him, unfortunately they were not many. He knew he could not stay in Florence forever, they were already too close. But where to go? Holmes was as lost in Florence as he had been in Switzerland. Finally feeling there was little he could do he returned, rather forlornly, to the guest house to be greeted by Mario. Holmes sighed; this explanation was not going to be easy. Smiling, Holmes approached him.

"Mario, good morning."

"I found Angel in your room this morning – and in your bed."

Mario's face was taught and his hands were clenched in front of him. Holmes tried his best to keep his voice under control.

"Yes, I realise how it looks but I must assure you that I…" He broke off when he saw Mario break into a smile.

"May I ask what it is you are smiling at?"

"Your consternation Mr. Sigerson!" Mario laughed, "Angel told me what happened, and how you look after her. I am very grateful to you."

Holmes stood in disbelief as Mario grasped his hand tightly and shook it. Without a word Holmes let himself be led into the house to a waiting Angel who flung her arms around him when she saw him.

"I am so glad you are back!" she almost screamed at him. Holmes could see Mario standing and smiling out of the corner of his eye, disentangling himself from her grasp, he smiled at her.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yes much, thank you."

Mario smiled and led Holmes to the table where he had prepared food; it had only just dawned on Holmes that he had forgotten to eat. He could sense Angel staring at him and tried his best not to look at her, he had never had a woman so infatuated with him in his life- at least not that he knew of and he had no idea how to deal with her, her youth was disturbing him somewhat, she was so young.

"Where have you been this morning?" Her voice trickled into his thoughts and he looked up at her as he began to eat.

"Just a walk, I found I needed to clear my head."

"Because of me?"

Holmes coughed,

"Because of a lot of things."

"Are you unhappy here Emile?"

Holmes paused in his eating to look at her. Emile? When had she started calling him Emile? Her voice had suddenly taken on a whole new tone, she was leaning forward towards him and smiling peculiarly. Holmes glanced at Mario who was avoiding his eyes, focusing instead on the stove in front of him, but Holmes could see he was smiling; inwardly he groaned.

"No of course not. What makes you say that?"

"Why you are never here!" She exclaimed, laughing almost coquettishly.

"I am a traveller Angel, it is in my blood to wander."

She nodded,

"Perhaps."

"Angel you have chores." Mario's voice interrupted them for which Holmes was eternally grateful. Angel nodded to her father, cast one more reproachful look at Holmes, who had resumed his breakfast, and left with a small sigh. Mario watched her go with a smile,

"She is besotted with you."

"She will get over it once she gets to know me better."

"And who are you Mr…Sigerson?"

Mario paused, the question hanging in the air, Holmes met his gaze but said nothing, they were prevented from saying more by a knock at the door. Mario tore his eyes away from Holmes and went to answer it; Holmes heard a young male voice and then footsteps. Mario appeared in the doorway,

"A caller for you Mr. Sigerson."

Holmes thought Mario's tone to be peculiarly flat and raised an eyebrow in his direction, a gesture which Mario ignored and swiftly left the kitchen, leaving Holmes to flounder in his new found social situation.

"Mr. Sigerson?"

A red-haired youth of little more than nineteen stood ringing his hat between his hands and peering into Holmes' face with something like disgust and curiosity. Holmes sighed and, wiping his hands on his trousers, stepped forward with an outstretched hand.

"Yes and you are?"

"Benji." The youth replied, placing a rather warm and moist hand into Holmes', who shook it then quickly released it.

"Very nice to meet you, I presume the inspector sent you?"

"Yes sir."

Holmes grunted; this was going to be torture.

"Very well. Are you ready to begin?"

"Oh yes sir, whenever you are sir."

The boy was almost bowing, Holmes eyed him curiously.

"You are not Italian Benji?" Holmes stated rather than inquired.

"No sir, I was born in England, my family moved here when I was very little but I have never developed an Italian accent – I do speak Italian though sir."

"Indeed?" Holmes' mood brightened; perhaps they had not given him such a useless fop after all, he had potential even if he was a little too submissive. Before either could say more, Angel bounded through the doorway and stopped abruptly when she saw Holmes was not alone.

"Oh," she exclaimed, her hair had fallen loosely about her shoulders and her face was slightly flushed, her lips were parted in shock. Even Holmes was forced to acknowledge how attractive she looked, "I am sorry Mr. Sigerson I thought you were alone."

"That is quite alright. Benji I would like to introduce Angelique Conavelli, Mario's daughter." Holmes pulled Angel into the room and smiled at Benji, who seemed transfixed with her. Angel quickly shook his hand, then turned her attention back to Holmes.

"Who is he?" She asked, linking her arm through Holmes' she rested her chin on his shoulder and gazed up at him – much to Holmes' deep consternation.

"A…friend, he is showing me around the city." Holmes said, placing a hand over the one that was resting casually on his arm, remembering the persona he had to maintain and preferring that Angel know as little of his business as possible. He glanced at Benji, inwardly praying that the boy had the good sense to keep his mouth shut, but he needn't have worried for Benji's eyes were fixed on Angel and had taken on that far-off glow that betrayed his emotions. Holmes coughed,

"Benji?"

Benji blinked at the sound of Holmes' voice and turned his eyes to him,

"Yes sir?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yes sir, sorry sir, ready to go when you are." He smiled at Holmes, then to Angel, "It was very nice to meet you Miss. Conavelli, I very much hope to see you again."

Angel smiled gently at him and released her hold on Holmes.

"Yes well shall we go?" Holmes picked up his coat and hat from the chair he had thrown them on and guided Benji out of the door.

"Goodbye Emile." Angel whispered as Holmes turned to the door.

"Goodbye Angel." Holmes replied, before swiftly exiting the kitchen and into the warm air of the street.

"She is very beautiful." Benji said in a breathless voice, staring at the door out of which they had just come.

"What?" Holmes said, following his gaze, "oh yes I suppose so."

"You cannot tell me that you have not noticed sir?"

Holmes sighed; he really did not have time for this.

"Of course I've noticed, I have a terrible habit of noticing everything – sometimes even when I do not wish to." Holmes muttered the last part under his breath.

"I beg your pardon sir?"

"Nothing." Holmes was diverted from Benji and his forlorn gazes to a rather curious man loitering at the corner of the street. The man was smoking a cigarette and leaning nonchalantly against a wall, staring at Holmes, Holmes stared back unflinching before breaking his gaze and turning to Benji who was looking at him with one eyebrow raised.

"Is something wrong sir?"

"Benji do you have a cigarette on you?"

"Yes sir," Benji reached into his inner coat pocket and took out a packet of cigarettes, he offered Holmes one who took it, Benji lit it for him, still curious but saying nothing. Holmes blew a long stream of smoke into the air.

"There was a man a minute ago on that corner behind me. Is he still there?" Holmes' voice was low, but his manner was relaxed as he blew ring after ring of smoke into the air.

"Yes sir." Benji replied, to Holmes' immense relief he had not made his look obvious.

Holmes nodded and putting an arm around Benji's shoulders led him away from the house and down toward the end of the street, opposite to where their watcher was poised. Holmes walked slowly, aware that he was being watched, he did not want to cause excitement and having Benji so close ensured that whoever was following him would not try anything. Once they had crossed the street and into the main public square, Holmes released his hold and turned around. The man was gone. He sighed.

"Is there something I should know sir?"

Holmes looked at the boy before him and as much as he desired to place his trust in him and unburden himself, he was just a boy and Holmes' secret was too precious, he was not sure that he was ready to place his life in the hands of another – at least not yet.

"No, nothing. I have enemies that is all, a man who has travelled as often as I, builds up certain animosities. I must be careful – and I am overly suspicious by nature I'm afraid." Holmes attempted a casual smile but it died on his lips, he needed answers and he was becoming impatient with pretending to Emile Sigerson when he desperately needed to be Sherlock Holmes.

Benji nodded but did not look convinced.

"I would very much like to visit the library; there are some things I would like to look up. Can you take me there?" Holmes enquired.

"Certainly if you wish it, I am at your service as it were."

Holmes smiled and stalked off across the square. Benji followed at a slower pace staring after the man who had now become his master. He was reminded of someone but he could not say who, the way this man carried himself, so sure and so confident in his bearing that Benji was almost in awe of him and they had only just met. He seemed to know all about you in just a look, Benji had thought that there was more to this unusual assignment than he was being told and now he had met the man whom he was to escort he was convinced of it. As he watched Holmes, Benji had the most peculiar feeling of dread tie his stomach into knots; he somehow knew that being the escort of one such as Mr. Emile Sigerson was not going to be at all easy.


	6. Chapter 6 Time to Leave

**Chapter Six. Time to Leave.**

Holmes lay back with a sigh. It had been a long day, the breeze floating in from the window soothed his mind. The library had not been particularly helpful, although it had provided him with a memory. A new publication of 'The Strand' had been delivered and in it was contained the story of his 'death' he regretted what he had done to Watson but resolved his guilt by the necessity of the situation. The library had also convinced him of something else, that Florence was no longer safe, he needed to move on. It was a shame as he had almost settled here, but Moriarty's men were everywhere and getting closer, he could not risk the lives of those he had come to care about. How strange that he had come to care for these people, even Benji that he had known for such a short time was becoming almost pleasant company. Holmes stirred as he heard footsteps outside the door. Angel. What would he tell Angel?

"Mr. Sigerson?" She tapped gently on the door. Holmes got up to let her in, preferring to tell her of his plan to leave when they were alone, where she was less likely to cause a scene, he could not stand hysterical women.

He opened the door and nearly fainted. Angel was standing before him clad only in a thin nightgown made of blue silk, her hair falling loosely about her shoulders and a sly smile on her face. Holmes grabbed her and pulled her into the room.

"What are you doing you stupid girl?! If anyone should have seen you what do you think they would have said? What would your father say?" He was gripping her tightly by the shoulders, almost afraid of what she would do if he released her.

"I don't care, I only care about you, I want you to love me."

Her voice was quiet and her eyes were filled with tears.

"Angel." Holmes sighed and dipped his head, he released his hold on her and went back to his bed, sitting down he stared out of the window.

"You would care for me if you knew all the things I had done."

"I don't care about that either."

"I am much older than you." He turned to face her, she was shivering, he took a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her bare shoulders, she was crying now.

"I love you."

"You think you love me but I tell you you don't," Holmes was floundering, and he felt hot and confused, "There will be a man in your future, closer to your own age, who you will love much more than you could ever love me. Who will deserve you much more than I ever could."

Angel nodded, she did not look at him and continued to shiver.

"Angel I must tell you something."

She looked up and Holmes could feel himself tremble as her tear-stained eyes focused on him, he could bear to be the cause of so much pain.

"I am leaving Angel, in a few days I will leave Florence and I will never come back."

Angel's breath caught in her throat.

"Oh no, you cannot leave you cannot! Non ho capito!"* She had descended into Italian as her body shook more violently. Holmes reached forward and she collapsed into his arms. Holmes stroked her hair and let her cry. Her sobbing gradually subsided into small whimpers.

"Is it because of those men?" She asked quietly. Holmes tensed.

"Men?" He asked, still stroking her hair absent-mindedly.

"They asked for you. Not your name but they described you, I told them you had gone out. That is all I swear, they did not seem nice men."

"No they are not." So they had found him. Now was indeed the time to leave.

"Is that why you are leaving?" She leaned away from him and wiped her eyes.

"Among other times, it is simply time to go." He smiled and pushed a strand of hair away from her face. She caught his hand.

"I would never have betrayed you, never. I would have let them kill me first."

Holmes looked at her and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was telling the truth. He leaned forward and, without thinking, gently kissed her. She seemed shocked at first but then she put a hand around his neck and pulled him closer.

"No." Holmes pulled away and stood up, "No Angel I'm sorry I should not have done that."

He felt sick and hot. She stood and walked toward him, taking his hand she turned him to face her.

"I am sorry too, for existing, for making you feel what you do not want." Holmes began to speak but she put a finger against his lips. Releasing him she walked to the door, before opening it she turned.

"I'll never love anyone else. Vi sono l'amore della mia vita."*

Then she was gone. Holmes could say nothing, he could not speak. He turned back to the window and breathed in the cool air. He had never loved, he had told Watson that a thousand times and yet….this girl that he had known for such a short time, who was so young had changed him. He had kissed her and he had wanted more. He shook his head. He felt compelled to jump, to end it all then and there, to prevent any further pain to his own heart – or to hers. But he did not, there were more important factors in his life than…than what? Love? He did not love Angel, but he knew now, even more than before, that he had to leave.

* * *

* I do not understand!

*You are the love of my life.

* * *

**Not very canonical I know but I like to play around with Holmes ; ) For whoever is still reading this I am very grateful and I would greatly appreciate any reviews. Thank you.**


	7. Chapter 7 On the road again

_I have to say I am loving writing this story, even though it's not getting very many hits or reviews! But alas, we carry on…This may be the last update for a while as I go back to work tomorrow and that means a busy two weeks but I will try and update before Feb! Also apologies in advance for any grammatical errors that you spot, I don't have time to read these back!_

**Chapter Seven. On the road again.**

He had resolved to go then and there. After the fiasco with Angel he felt sick, disgusted, not himself and he needed to move. He packed what little belongings he had and left. He shut the door behind him quietly and stared up at the house, he had changed here. He turned and was about to walk away when he heard a movement behind him, spinning round he sighed as the figures he saw before him registered.

"What are you doing here?"

"Angel. She came to my home in tears and told me what you were planning to do. I want to come with you."

Holmes sighed again.

"And you?"

"There is nothing for me here." Angel's eyes had changed, the lovely lost look she once had was gone. Holmes bit his lip as he realised he was the one to blame for it.

"I travel alone."

"You may need our help Mr. Holmes."

Holmes stared at him.

"How?"

"A telegram came to the station warning the inspector that an attack on your life may be imminent, it was from a Mr. Mycroft Holmes. The Holmes family are quite famous you know that, your names are not unfamiliar. He is your brother yes?"

"Yes." Holmes' mind was working rapidly. Mycroft? What was he doing? And why contact the inspector and not himself? But he could not think of that now, he would return to it later. Angel was staring at him and he stared back, perhaps it was better that she knew what he truly was.

"Please let us come with you," She said, "We could help you, help you fight these men."

Holmes doubted it but nodded none the less, his thoughts were far away.

"Perhaps."

"Then you will let us come?"

Holmes nodded.

"But be warned. I am not a sociable man, you take me as you find me and you leave me alone when asked. This is my fight, and it is imperative you do as I say. I will not take arguments and I will not be challenged. You are responsible for your own lives, I will not take responsibility for you. What you do you do of your own free will. Agreed?"

Angel and Benji nodded.

"Where are we headed?" Benji asked, picking up a rucksack that had been concealed in the shadows.

"India.I will be harder to find in a country with so many people." Holmes replied, still looking at Angel who was gazing at the house – her house. Benji whistled but said nothing.

"Angel?" Holmes asked, taking a step toward her.

"Mmm?" She smiled as she turned to him.

"Are you sure about this? Your father…"

"My father will understand. He knows I belong with you." Holmes arched an eyebrow, "I was born to help you." She finished quite seriously. Holmes said nothing, he was already regretting taking her and they had not yet moved, but he knew enough about women to know once made, her mind could not be changed, she was in love with him and nothing he did would make the slightest difference.

"Very well. Let us go then."

Angel too picked up a bag and with one last forlorn look at her home she turned and followed the two men into the darkness and into an uncertain future.

* * *

_A short chapter I know but it's more of a 'connecting scene' to lead into the next part of the story. We move from Italy to India….._


	8. Part Two India Chapter One

**PART TWO INDIA**

**Chapter one. The Three Travellers.**

"_East is East and West is West and never the twain shall meet" Kipling 'The Ballad of East and West'_

The night was dark but starry as the trio set off for the train that would take them to India. Holmes was uneasy, he considered taking them back but the determined looks on both their faces prevented him. What did it matter to him? They had their own will, they had chosen to accompany him, and he had not forced them. And yet there was a gnawing feeling inside him, telling him he was doing the wrong thing. The streets were dark and Angel unconsciously looped her arm through Benji's, her eyes darting this way and that, as if she too were sharing Holmes' misgivings. Benji smiled at her in the dark and mused at how the stars reflected in her frightened eyes. The train station was not far and dawn was just beginning to show over a sleepy Florence when they boarded the train that would take them away. Angel sat and stared out of the window, staring forlornly at all she was leaving behind. She turned to Holmes who was placing their bags on an overhead rack, and smiled at him. He turned to her and returned her smile somewhat awkwardly. As the train was pulling away he took a seat opposite her in the only carriage they had managed to find that was empty, and stared at her.

"You look worried." He said simply. She did not look at him.

"I am not worried."

Holmes took his pipe from his pocket and lit it. He did not how to deal with women, he knew everything about everything but women was the one mystery he feared he would never solve. Benji concealed a smile and turned to Angel.

"Your father will understand." Angel turned to him with a look of bewilderment, "That is what you were thinking wasn't it?"

His voice was gentle and Angel responded with a smile. She nodded and turned her eyes back to the country that was flashing past faster than her thoughts. Holmes grunted but said nothing; he merely shifted in his seat and puffed furiously on his pipe. Benji wondered what Holmes' feelings towards Angel were. Was he jealous that Angel had responded to him rather than Holmes? Or was he merely jealous of the fact that Benji could obviously understand women more than he was ever going to? Benji mused upon this as he watched Angel gently fall asleep on his shoulder.

The train juddered to a stop waking Benji from a delightful dream; he awoke to find Angel gone and Holmes pulling bags from above his head.

"Where are we?" He asked in a sleepy voice.

"At the coast," Holmes replied, "Come, our boat leaves soon."

Benji blinked in an attempt to wake himself and helped Holmes carry their bags onto the platform.

"Where is Angel?" Benji asked, looking around him.

"She has gone to secure our tickets. That girl may be of use yet. Come, she is to meet us at the pier."

Benji followed Holmes along the busy platform to the pier where a huge ship, all grey and forbidding awaited them. Sure enough, waiting for them, was Angel. Benji was left breathless by her appearance, she was dressed head to toe in white and she looked radiant. She smiled as they approached her.

"I got them. " She beamed in Holmes' direction, who ignored her. Benji cursed the man, how he would have killed to be on the end of the looks Angel was bestowing on Holmes. Holmes took the tickets from her and walked over to a uniformed man a little way ahead of them, they conversed quietly for a few minutes. Benji watched them curiously sensing there was more to this trip than they were being told, Holmes seemed to have everything planned. Before long, Holmes turned and motioned to them to follow. They followed him into the mouth of the huge ship, a feeling of unease sweeping over them all. Holmes led them them to two doors, pointing to one he turned to Angel.

"This will be your room, Benji and I will be next door should you need us." He nodded briefly to Angel then disappeared behind his cabin door. Benji smiled forlornly at her, not quite sure what to do.

"I'll be alright honestly." She said to his look, rather tan his words, you go in, I'll see you later."

Benji nodded and followed Holmes into the cabin, he found him sitting on the edge of his bed, smoking.

"Is everything alright Mr. Holmes."

"I think, Benji it would be safer for you to call me Sigerson from now on - just in case."

"Certainly sir." He hesitated, "You were a trifle sharp just – with Angel."

Holmes looked up, one eyebrow raised.

"Was I? I knew it would be a mistake bringing a woman along. Honestly I cannot constantly be worrying about offending the girl – I am fighting for my life!"

Benji frowned, Holmes could be extremely narrow-minded at times.

"Yes sir. Perhaps it will be better when we reach India."

"I doubt it." Holmes mumbled as he lay down, his steely grey eyes fixed on a point above him. Benji sighed and followed suit, thinking regretfully that it was a long way to India.

They arrived, tired and overwhelmed into Bombay. It had been a long journey and Angel was suffering the most. The heat and the dust was suffocating to her after the freedom and relaxing atmosphere of her home country. Benji did his best to comfort her but she merely smiled at him and shrugged away his concerns. Holmes on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected by their journey. He stood on the platform idly smoking his pipe, his hat lowered over his eyes while he rocked gently on his heels. Benji looked at him in awe. Holmes seemed to be waiting for something so Benji and Angel too waited, Angel sitting on the floor, her head in her hands and Benji kneeling next to her. The sheer volume of people was enough to make the stoutest heart feel intimidated; they came like waves upon the travellers who watched them with wide eyes. All the colours of the rainbow floated past them chattering and laughing, completely ignoring their presence. Intermingled with these exotic creatures were many Englishmen. Their clothes marking them out and making them look almost comical as they sweltered in the heat, fashionably dressed women fanned themselves and stuffy old men grumbled about the weather and the trains. Holmes ignored them all until, all of a sudden, his eyes lit up and he stopped rocking on his heels to stare at a small Indian man who was pushing his way through the crowd with an enormous smile on his face.

"Mr Sigerson!" he exclaimed, waving his hands in the air as he approached them. He looked from Holmes, to Angel, to Benji and back again to Holmes, the smile never leaving his face. Benji noticed the slight emphasis this man placed on 'Sigerson' but said nothing.

"Sanjeev" Holmes replied with a smile, extending his hand, which the man took then quickly released.

"Please, please introduce me to your guests; we did not know you would bring company."

"No, well it was a last minute arrangement." Holmes smiled, looking towards Angel and Benji who had now stood to meet this man that Holmes obviously trusted. "Is everything ready?"

"Oh yes sir, it is all arranged. You are to stay in Bombayfor a few days and then we move on as you requested sir."

"Good. Thank you, shall we be off?"

Holmes smiled and stalked off ahead of them all, as Sanjeev picked up Angel's back for her and Benji took her arm.

"You will get used to the hustle and bustle." Snajeev said to Angel as they walked behind a rapidly disappearing Holmes. Angel merely smiled, the confusion in her head making her feel sick.

"I thought we would see some sights Mr. Holmes – on rhe way?" Sanjeev suggested as Holmes slowed his pace to allow them to catch up.

"By all means Sanjeev." Holmes smiled.

Sanjeev talked all the way to their hotel, showing them al manner of peculiar things, temples and markets, bazaars and street sellers were paraded before them. The next object of interest was a high tower of white marble coloured yellow dedicated to Siva and carved in every part with images of gods and goddesses. In the interior was a narrow staircase occasionally heading through small chambers containing altars and with walls carved with images of Siva and Parvatti in every imaginable position some of which made Angel blush, Benji almost choke and Holmes to smile at their consternation. The day progressed and the weather became intolerable. Holmes suggested that they return to the hotel, it had, after all, been a long day.

Reaching the hotel they were dispatched to their various rooms and agreed to meet for dinner. Later that night, when Sanjeev had left them, Angel wandered out into the garden of the hotel, feeling flushed and overwhelmed. Her feet revelled in the feel of the soft, cool grass, she ventured further and found a pool surrounded by trees and romantic old ruins of temples and palaces where everything was so pleasing to the senses that she delayed there for a while not wanting to go back to the stuffy, formal dinner. She was a child used to being free, not corseted and buttoned, paraded around like some trophy and her mind was sick of it. The air was pleasing to her and provided a welcome contrast to the extreme heat of the day.

"Angel?" She jumped in spite of herself and whirled around to find Holmes sitting on a nearby bench smoking.

"You starlted me. I thought you were inside." She began to walk towards him but he stood and barred her way.

"I 'm sorry. I couldn't stand the questions of curious English aristocrats." He smiled at her with a hint of sarcasm playing around his lips. Angel smiled shyly back.

"Are you tired?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes, it has been an tiring day."

"Indeed."

There seemed to be a tension between them that neither wanted to acknowledge. Holmes shifted uncomfortably on the spot.

"I think I'm going to bed." Angel said as she turned to go.

"You don't regret coming with me do you?" Holmes voice stopped her in her tracks.

"No, of course not. Why do you ask?"

"Angel," Holmes said her name with a sigh as he took a step towards her, "I am afraid I know nothing about women – little or nothing anyway and I sense that you're not completely happy."

Angel smiled, touched by his concern.

"It takes a little while to get used to, that is all."

Holmes nodded.

"But no, Mr. Holmes," he looked up as she said his name, "I will never regret coming with you. I would follow you to the ends of the earth."

Leaving Holmes staring open mouthed after her, Angel walked serenely back to her room, a slight smile playing around her delicate mouth. She had won the first battle.

* * *

An update whoo hoo! It's a bit of a long one and I actually did some research for this one! Some of the detail of India was taken from the diary of an unidentified traveller c.1830-1860. The original entries can be found at .com/category/nineteenth-century-diary/.

Hope you enjoy and reviews are ALWAYS welcome and very much appreciated!


	9. Chapter 2 Closing In

**Chapter Two. Closing in.**

Angel awoke to the clamouring of voices below her, she blinked herself awake and quickly got dressed. Opening the door to the landing of the imperious hotel they had been placed in, she bumped into Benji who was staring over the banister, while attempting to button his shirt.

"What is it?" Angel asked quietly, not wanting to startle him.

"I don't know." Benji turned to her, still buttoning his shirt, "Mr…Sigerson is down there, been down there most of the night before all this commotion started. Don't know what's going on now."

He once more moved his eyes from her face to look down the stairs. Angel followed his gaze, unnerved by the raised voices.

"Benji!" Holmes' voice was suddenly to be heard from below, Angel jumped and Benji sighed, not giving her a glance he bounded off down the stairs leaving her to pull her clothes tighter around herself and gaze after him. She wasn't quite sure what she should do; she wanted to follow him but knew Holmes' would not be happy if he found her loitering. So she waited at the top of the stairs, simply staring and wondering. She watched as native policemen came striding in, moving all in their path, crowds had begun to gather in the lobby and once or twice she saw Holmes' figure move between them, issuing orders to people she could barely see and moving people out of his path, she smiled as she saw Benji struggling to keep up with him and carry out his orders as he wished. She had turned to return to her room when she became conscious that she was being watched, she turned to find a small Indian boy staring at her with wide, frightened eyes. They regarded each other for a moment without speaking then the boy ran to her and clung to her skirts. He mumbled something in Hindi and when Angel shook her head to show she did not understand, the boy began to sob. Angel crouched down beside him and put her arms around him. The boy's sobs subsided and he once more looked at her,

"Father." He murmured quietly.

"Father?" Angel repeated.

The boy nodded and pointed to the staircase.

"Oh." Angel said quietly, getting to her feet. Holding out her hand to the boy they proceeded to the stairs; the boy paused and gripped her hand tighter.

"It's alright." Angel smiled and he returned it, he cast one brief look behind him and allowed himself to be led.

The bright lights were a stark contrast to the dimness of the upstairs landing, both Angel and the boy flinched from it. When Angel could focus again she found herself looking into the eyes of Holmes. She gasped.

"What are you doing down here?" he demanded giving the boy a brief, curious glance.

"I found him," She indicated the boy clinging ever tighter to her hand and gazing at Holmes in wonder, "I think he may be involved with whatever is going on."

Holmes grunted and looked down toward the boy.

"Who are you?" Holmes spoke in English and the poor boy shook his head and began to cry. Holmes sighed and repeated his question in Hindi, the boy whimpered something and Holmes' eyes widened.

"Who is he?" Angel asked, glancing between man and boy.

"He is the murdered man's son." Holmes replied in a whisper.

"Murder?" Angel said, also in a whisper. She looked down toward the boy.

"He seems to be attached to you. That's as well. Take him to your room, keep him there until I come to you."

Angel nodded, wanting to ask questions but knowing it was better to wait until Holmes explained – which he always did eventually. He cast her the briefest of smiles and disappeared once more into the ever growing crowd. Angel turned to the boy and shrugged, he sniffed back his tears and smiled back.

"Just us then." She smiled, feeling slightly useless as the boy looked at her in pleasant confusion. She led him back upstairs and into her room. He sat rather awkwardly on the edge of her bed and watched as she poured him a glass of water, he took it from her and sipped it gratefully. Angel stared at him, she wondered if he knew what was happening to him. He stared at her just as intently until Angel could stand it no longer and broke his gaze. They sat in silence for a few moments until there was a sharp rapping at the door, the boy jumped and spilled his water on the floor. Angel went to him and took the glass from him, smiling in an attempt to reassure him, she went to answer it. It was not who she was expecting.

"Can I help you?" She said in her sweetest voice, attempting to block the doorway, for reasons she knew not why.

"We are looking for a boy." The man before her said in stunted English, his impassive brown eyes watching her suspiciously.

"I have not seen any boy." She did not know why she was lying, why she was protecting this child but something told her this man should not find him, "Why do you look for a boy? What is going on down there?"

"That is not your concern memsahib."

Angel shrugged,

"Well there is no boy here." She did her best to look calm and uninterested; the man grunted something then made a small bow and left her. She shut the door and leaned against it with a sigh, wondering if she had done the right thing. The boy had disappeared, she realised suddenly that she did not know his name and so could not call him. She noticed a movement coming from the bathroom, she called out to him in what she hoped was a reassuring voice, before long he crept out from behind the door and peered at her.

"It's alright," she repeated, "He won't hurt you."

She wasn't sure if he understood her but he smiled sheepishly and scurried to the bed. She smiled, unsure of what to do, feeling foolish that all she _could _do was smile, when there was once more a knock at the door. She sighed as the boy raced back to his hiding place. Going to the door she opened it hesitantly and peeped through the gap.

"It's me." Sherlock Holmes said, it relieved her greatly to hear his voice, she opened the door. "Where is he?"

She pointed to the bathroom, Holmes raised an eyebrow before proceeding. Holmes said something in what she presumed was Hindi and the boy appeared. He seemed somehow smaller next to Holmes' lean six foot form and he seemed to sink within his shadow, Holmes knelt down to the boy and held out his hand, reluctantly the boy took it. Once more Holmes spoke to him in his own tongue and he seemed comforted by it for he smiled and nodded in assent to whatever it was Holmes was asking him to do.

"Stay with him." Holmes said, not standing and not looking toward her.

"Of course." Angel was confused. Holmes touched the boy's cheek, smiled and turned to go. Angel gripped his arm, he stared at her hand.

"Tell me what is going on."

Angel had discovered something about Mr. Sherlock Holmes, he did not suffer fools, nor did he appreciate women who gossiped or became hysterical, he did not respond to emotion but to logic and directness, intelligence and initiative. Angel was not stupid and she was not going to be taken for granted, she loved him but he would never love her or even care for her and so she approached him the only other way she could think of, in a language and a manner that he would understand. Holmes stared at her for a few moments and she felt herself faltering, his eyes were such that he seemed to be able to stare into her very soul, but she held her nerve and waited.

"A man has been murdered, this boy's father, it was a mistake."

"A mistake?" Angel repeated loosening her grip on his arm.

"Yes, they were after me."

"They?" Angel inwardly cursed herself for sounding such a fool and repeating his words but she often found herself confused and flustered when talking to this man.

"Yes_ they_." Holmes was beginning to sound annoyed but she was anxious to know all, "it is no safer here than in Florence, I was a fool to think it would be and I am more of a fool for bringing you and Benji along – especially you. Benji can look after himself, but you – you are my burden child. And now my brother involves me in his political intrigue without a care for my own troubles!"

He continued in this vein for a while but Angel was no longer listening, she had released his arm and had sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes cast downwards and her hands shaking. She wanted to go home, it was a mistake following him, thinking she could change him, make him love her, it was all foolish, a foolish girl's dreams and she wanted to cry, she longed for him to leave so she could sob. He could be so damned heartless!

"Watch him," he motioned to the boy who had taken her hand without her noticing, she looked up briefly and nodded, "Oh and his name is Amrit."

With that he was gone, the door had slammed and the darkness resumed it's choking hold on her. Amrit clutched her hand,

"Memsahib?" he whispered in a frightened voice.

She stared at him, hardly recognising him, then she smiled.

"Ill Memsahib?" he muttered in broken English, his imploring eyes forced tears to fall down her cheeks and he climbed up onto the bed next to her to place his head on her shoulder and she sobbed, she sobbed for home and for her father – and most of all, she sobbed for Holmes. She sobbed in great heaving cries as Amrit held her quivering shoulders and prayed to all the Gods he could name for her shaking to stop.

* * *

**_Sorry for the really slow updates life is ridiculous! Anyway, thanks to all those who are reaading and reviewing it is much appreciated, I know they're aren't many of you but you keep me going whoever you are! Many thanks and I hope you enjoy my work. _**


	10. Chapter 3 Decisions

**Chapter Three. Decisions. **

Angel had fully composed herself by the time Holmes returned. Amrit had fallen asleep in Angel's bed, exhausted by the strange white woman's tears and by his own confusion and grief. Angel was sitting with her feet up, on the windowsill staring as the morning passed into the afternoon. Holmes gently pushed open the door and entered, she did not turn to look at him. He cast a brief glance at the boy in the bed and walked slowly over to meet her.

"Angel?" He whispered so as not to startle her. She turned to him and he smiled. She did not smile back.

"Is it over?"

"Is what over?" He sat down opposite her, grateful for the cool breeze and the silence of her room.

"The hysteria, the noise. The murderer of this boy's father," She gestured with her arm to the bed where Amrit lay, "is he caught?"

"Yes he is caught." Holmes frowned at the tone in her voice; he could tell that she was strained and holding on to her dignity by a thread.

"It's not good for you to be up here alone Angel."

"What choice did you give me?" She asked quietly, turning her eyes back to the window.

Holmes sighed, a sound that pulled at Angel's heart, but she ignored the pain.

"You are right."

He said no more. Angel wanted to break the tension that was building in the room but was too tired and emotional to think. Holmes sat with her for a while; the room became darker as the cloudless blue sky became grey. Suddenly the clouds broke and rain fell on a sun baked India. People in the streets smiled and children screamed and played. Angel breathed in the cool air and let the rain wash in through her open window and on to her outstretched hand. Holmes closed his eyes and let his mind wander back to London and home. Neither stirred until a small whimpering was heard behind them. Angel turned from the window, her hand still outstretched and gestured to the boy now awake and rubbing his eyes in sleepy confusion.

"Come feel the rain Amrit." She said, and as if he understood her, he climbed out of the bed and up onto her lap. He too held out his hand and smiled as the large raindrops bounced off his small hand. Holmes smiled at the boy who was so entranced by the rain that would have, were it not for Angel's restraining hand, toppled head first into the street below.

For a brief moment Holmes felt strangely at peace. He watched this beautiful girl, her eyes glazed over with a sadness he could not begin to comprehend, holding as if her life depended on it, the small boy whose father had been so cruelly taken from him. Holmes watched as a bond was formed between the two, a bond of loneliness and isolation. Loving but not being loved in return. He felt a strange pity for Angel and her sadness but was unwilling to do anything about it. He mumbled something about the chief of police, a Colonel Montgomery, arranging a dinner for them at the British Embassy to which Angel nodded but remained silent. Holmes lingered a while longer, not wanting to return to the loneliness of his room but Angel was unresponsive and Holmes did not wish to console her. He stood and told her he would be by at 8 o'clock to escort her to dinner. Angel again nodded and Amrit sat looking at him expectantly. Holmes attempted a smile, bowed slightly to Angel and left quickly.

Returning to the sanctity of his own room Holmes collapsed onto the bed and clasped his hands to his eyes. He was tired and it was hot – too hot for any decent Englishman to bear. He undid his shirt and lay back down, facing the ceiling he thought of the situation he was in. Errand boy for his brother's diplomatic missions and guardian of two – no three – children. That's all they were, he reflected, children. Benji, Amrit, Angel – just children. What had he been thinking? Had Watson ruined him? Given him this need for human companionship that he had never before needed? He had never seen himself as the fatherly type and he wasn't good at it – nor did he want to be. He wanted to be rid of them and yet he needed them with him. Still there may come a time when he would need to proceed alone. He sighed – he would cross that bridge when he came to it. The rain continued to beat against the closed windows, Holmes felt oppressed so he stood to open the shutters. As he did so he glanced down into the street and saw a man staring up at him, a man about his age and height, wearing the clothes of a beggar but undoubtedly staring at him. He stared back equally as hard until the man turned and walked slowly down the street, ignoring the playful taunts of the children and the rain lashing against his body. Holmes watched him go with interest but was unconcerned – if he wanted to kill him, he would have done so. Sighing Holmes unbuttoned his shirt and began to dress for dinner.

At 8 o'clock precisely Holmes called for Angel, she opened the door and took his breath away. She was dressed head to toe in traditional Indian dress that sparkled and shimmered around her, making her seem as if she were from another world. Amrit appeared behind her and gingerly took her hand. He smiled at Holmes who returned it warmly;

"I thought it would be nice for Amrit to join us." Angel said, smiling down at the boy gazing at Holmes.

"Er… Yes of course." Holmes stammered, for perhaps the first time in his life, "Where did you get that?"

Angel looked down at her clothes and smiled at Amrit, who grinned impishly back.

"The lady who cleans the apartments here gave it to me; she said I should look the part for a dinner at the Embassy."

Holmes raised an eyebrow at the thought of a lowly cleaning woman in India who could speak English. Still he said nothing.

"Well she was right and the clothes for Amrit?" Holmes enquired, glancing at the boy.

"Oh he fetched them himself from his home." Angel replied innocently.

"You let him go out alone?"

"No, of course not. I went with him."

Holmes suppressed the anger he was feeling at her actions and merely smiled. He offered Angel his arm which she took, Amrit still hanging off her other hand.

"Do you talk to her a lot?" Holmes enquired as they descended the stairs into the lobby.

"Who?"

"The cleaning woman who got you the clothes."

"Sometimes, she's been around a lot today must have been all the commotion. She knew Amrit was in my room so she came to see if he was alright. Then we got talking and she asked about you…"

"About me? What did you tell her?"

"Nothing, don't worry I told her you were Mr. Sigerson, a friend who I was travelling with and you were taking me to dinner at the Embassy because you are an important man."

Angel smiled at Holmes who was staring blankly ahead.

"And what did she say to that?"

"She agreed and said you were indeed important to some people, then she got me the dress. What's wrong?"

Holmes' body had stiffened and his eyes had assumed that glazed expression they wore when he was in deep concentration. Holmes turned to her and smiled quickly.

"Nothing. Come we must hurry else we shall be late."

They hurried towards the Embassy amongst the noise and the rain soaked streets of India in the evening. Arriving at the Embassy Holmes knocked loudly, the door was answered by a native servant who bowed to Holmes and indicated that they should enter. Holmes went first, followed by Angel and Amrit. They were led through a large and ornate hallway to an upstairs room; the servant knocked gently and was requested to enter. Opening the doors, they were led into a plush dining room. They were greeted by a handsome man of about forty, with a kind face and deep brown eyes that were full of a wisdom unusual to his age.

"Mr. Sigerson," the man said extending his hand to Holmes, who shook it warmly, "How very good of you to come and you have brought guests!"

He glanced towards Angel who was still gripping Holmes' arm and Amrit, who was staring in wild eyed wonder at his surroundings.

"Yes, this is…my travelling companion Miss. Angel…. And Amrit, a boy we acquired."

"Acquired? Are you in the habit of acquiring young Indian children Mr. Sigerson?"

"Not in the habit no." Holmes smiled suavely.

The man smiled back.

"And I am Colonel Montgomery, Charles to my friends. Which is very much what I hope you will become."

He smiled at Angel who smiled back. She liked him. Holmes cleared his throat and asked if Benji had arrived yet, to which Colonel Montgomery replied that he had and was eagerly awaiting them. They were shown into a large drawing room where Benji stood to greet them.

"Mr. Sigerson!" He exclaimed upon reaching them, "Glad you're here. Angel, it's good to see you and who is this?"

He glanced towards Amrit who was looking between them all with a look of wonder and confusion written on his young features.

"This is Amrit, the man's son." Holmes answered him and a look passed between them that Angel could not identify, "Did you do what I asked Benji."

"Yes sir, it's all taken care of."

"Good."

Holmes ignored Angel's questioning look and led her to a chair. Benji sat next to her beaming and Amrit stood hesitantly on her one side. Holmes stood and gazed around the room.

"Why are we here?" Angel spoke for the first time causing both Benji and Holmes to jump at the sudden sound of her voice.

"We were invited." Holmes answered.

"It can't be just for that reason." Angel replied quietly, gazing anxiously at the growing number of guests. Benji glanced at Holmes who glanced quickly back but remained silent.

The dinner passed without event. Many questions were asked about Amrit, who was treated rather like an attraction brought for the amusement of the guests. Holmes dodged each question and replied carefully to each one. Angel became extremely protective of the boy and Benji became increasingly protective of her. It had become clear that Colonel Montgomery had taken a shine to her and Benji was keen to keep her away from him. They returned to the hotel in the early hours of the morning. Angel put Amrit in her bed and left him to sleep.

"We must leave India." Holmes said suddenly when they had relocated to his room.

"Leave? So soon and go where?" Angel asked, sitting up on the bed.

"Why now?" Benji asked seriously, there was something passing between Benji and Holmes that Angel could not understand and they were not prepared to tell her.

"They know I'm here. It isn't safe anymore."

"Where will we go?" Angel repeated her question, Holmes looked at her with something like fear present in his grey eyes.

"I don't know. Far away," He paused and Angel cast a glance at Benji who looked back at her without emotion, "Tibet."

"What?!" Benji exclaimed rising from the edge of the bed and walking over to where Holmes stood, "You'll never do it, no white man has ever got into Tibet – or at least got out alive."

"Exactly, so it is the last place they will expect me to go, especially with three children."

"I'm not a child." Benji said between clenched teeth.

Holmes gazed back at him.

"You are not coming. I will go on to Tibet, you will take Angel and Amrit back to Florence."

"No!" Benji shouted causing Angel to jump.

"Do not shout at me boy. I am telling you what is best, what you need to do to save all of your lives. I will not have your deaths on my conscience!" Holmes had a fire in his eyes that Angel had never seen before, the thought of leaving him was more than she could bear but the thought of entering Tibet scared her and she longed for home – maybe she was a child after all, she reflected. Looking back towards Holmes she caught his eye, he sighed.

"Do not think it is easy for me to leave you," Holmes said looking at her, "Any of you."

"I wont let you do it – you'll be killed, if not by Moriarty's men then by someone else. Tibet is a fool's errand." Benji had placed a hand on Holmes' arm, as if by doing this he could prevent him.

"It is the only way."

"No."

Holmes sighed again.

"We are all tired; we will discuss this in the morning."

"There is nothing to discuss, you are not going and if you do I will be with you." Benji's voice was firm; he held Holmes' eyes for a moment before nodding to Angel and disappearing to his own room. Angel stood.

"I'm sorry." She whispered as she approached him.

"Why?"

"For insisting on coming with you. You would be safer on your own."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. You have taught me many things Angel." He smiled at her and she wanted to die.

"I will leave you. If you ask it of me I will go." She looked him dead in the eyes and did not falter under his gaze. He raised her cold hand to his lips and kissed it. A single tear rolled down Angel's cheek and she left him in that dark room and spent the night in a fitful sleep with a concerned Amrit by her side, stroking her hair and whispering Hindu prayers to her that his mother used to recite to him when he cried as this poor white woman seemed to do all the time.

* * *

_Oh my God how long has this update taken!? I'm sorry! If anyone is still reading this i hope you can still remember what's going on! Reviews always welcome and appreciated. Many thanks x_


	11. Chapter 4 Separation

**Chapter Four. Separation.**

The day dawned hot and humid and Angel rose and dressed quickly. Amrit was asleep, his hair matted around his damp forehead, she moved quietly so as not to disturb him. She glanced out of the hotel window and saw the world coming to life with a sleepy forcefulness. She raised an eyebrow in surprise as she saw Holmes walking slowly through the crowd. She pulled a shawl around her shoulders, made sure Amrit was still asleep and rushed down into the street.

Holmes paused in mid-stride as he spotted her, she smiled as she caught up to him.

"It is early Angel, what are you doing out here?"

She smiled again and fell into step beside him,

"I could say the same of you."

Holmes smiled gently and nodded,

"It is insufferably warm, I couldn't sleep."

"Were you thinking about what to do next? Is that why you couldn't sleep?"

Holmes turned to face her with a smile,

"Ever to the point."

"Well?" Angel pressed her point home, desperate to know if she was being sent away. She had not forgotten her promise of the night before – to leave him if he asked it of her.

Holmes let out a sigh and seemed to be staring far ahead of him.

"Tibet is the only answer."

"Then you are asking me to go?" Angel was struggling to keep her voice under control, without thinking she linked her arm through Holmes' and gripped tightly, Holmes glanced down at it but did not remove it.

"That I am not going to do."

Angel stared at him.

"But I thought…"

"What? That I was heartless, that I cannot recognise when two people love me?"

Angel lowered her eyes in shame, yes that is what she had thought.

"I will not ask you to go nor will I force you to come. Tibet is dangerous, Benji is quite right when he says that no white man has ever entered and lived to tell the tale, and a white woman!" He paused and patted the hand that lay on his arm, "Well that may be asking too much."

Angel did not know what to say, she had resigned herself to leaving him, had cried while Amrit whispered to her in a language she did not understand until she fell asleep, exhausted at the thought of returning alone. Now she was faced with the prospect of entering a country that she may not come out of, but she would be going with him. Her heart soared at the thought of not leaving him, but skipped at the idea of Tibet. It was unchartered territory but it was away and she was aware that Holmes' presence in India was getting noticed.

"I will come."

Holmes slowed his step.

"Are you sure?"

"I love you and I will not leave you until you ask it."

There was a look in Angel's eyes that Holmes had never seen before in any human being – let alone any woman's and especially not directed at him. He was by no means a nervous man but at that moment, all the love and quiet desperation of this young woman who was holding on to his arm as if holding on to life, terrified him more than a thousand of Moriaty's men.

"Very well."

Angel let out the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding and placed a hand over her stomach to steady herself.

"And Benji? He will come to?"

Holmes nodded as he changed direction and headed back the way they had come.

"He insists."

"He admires you very much."

"I know."

Angel hesitated before voicing her next question.

"And Amrit?"

"He is just a child Angel."

"What will you do?"

"There is a woman in the hotel who knew his father; she will take him to his family."

Angel cast her eyes down and nodded, Holmes stopped and turned her to face him, and placing a long finger under her chin he lifted her face to his.

"It is for the best, I know how attached you've become to the boy but he belongs here."

Angel nodded again and Holmes let his hand fall to his side.

"You should have stayed in Florence."

Holmes' voice burst into Angel's thoughts abruptly.

"No." She answered simply.

"You would have been saved all this pain."

"Do you think I was happy in Florence?"

Holmes looked at her,

"Weren't you?"

"No, I had no-one, I had no friends, I worked all day and all night, I had no-one but my father…"

She paused at the mention of her father and silently cursed herself for not thinking of him more.

"I am sure he understands." Holmes offered in a voice that sounded to Angel as if it wasn't entirely sure that the words it was using were the right ones. Holmes had little experience in family matters; he had never been that close to his own father and had spent most of his youth envisioning ways to escape the man. He tried but was finding it almost impossible to understand Angel's guilt. Still, he supposed, Angel's father had appeared to love her, he was not sure his own father even liked him all that much.

"Perhaps." Angel almost whispered, Holmes turned sharply towards the steps of the hotel before pausing mid-stride. Angel looked around but could not see what had caught his attention, he appeared to be sniffing the air, Angel watched with a mixed feeling of wonder and fear before Holmes pulled her roughly behind the staircase that led to the lobby of the hotel and placed a hand over her mouth. Holmes pressed Angel to him and moved towards the back of the stairs. Above them Angel could see two men, they were English but they were talking French in low voices. Angel recognised the language but could not hear what they were saying. To her horror she recognised the voice of Amrit from the hotel entrance. Holmes felt her stiffen against him and he released his hold on her mouth. She looked at him fearfully but Holmes placed a finger to his lips to silence her, his other arm still firmly around her waist as if her scared that at any minute she would rush to Amrit's aid. The two men ceased their conversation when they heard the boy, beckoning him to them they asked him some questions about the guests, all of which Amrit answered with the ignorance of a lowly Indian servant boy. Holmes smiled to himself, perhaps the boy wasn't as stupid as he thought. Angel was wringing her hands in fear of Amrit exposing them but soon his small footsteps were heard disappearing down the steps and into the street beyond. The two men continued their conversation but were forced to move by the presence of an old woman making her way precariously from the hotel to the street. Holmes watched as they stood looking up at the rooms for a minute before continuing on their way. Angel took a breath and manoeuvred herself out from Holmes' grasp.

"Who were they?"

"I don't know, but any English men snooping around a perfectly inconspicuous hotel and speaking to servants in a language that is not their own should, in my opinion, be avoided."

Angel smiled at his relaxed tone.

"I think, my dear Angel, that if we remain hidden away down here for much longer that we shall encourage unnecessary talk. Shall we?"

Holmes offered his arm to Angel who took it and together they walked back out into the sunlight, proceeding quickly up the steps they entered the cool lobby of the hotel. As they did so Benji appeared.

"I was getting worried," he said as he approached them, "I thought you'd gone off to Tibet without telling me."

Holmes smiled.

"No, did you see those two men out on the porch just now?"

"The two Englishmen?"

Holmes nodded,

"Yes I saw them, they looked as if they were deep in conversation but I paid them no attention. Why were they important?"

"Perhaps."

Holmes was looking around him as if he expected to be seized at any moment.

"I need to send a telegram; the two of you are to remain here until I return."

"What about Amrit?" Angel said, concerned for the boy who had run off without so much as a word.

"Amrit will be fine, they do not know he is connected to me and even if they did I'm not sure they would care, besides this is his city he will come to no harm."

Angel wasn't so sure but she remained quiet.

"Be ready to leave as soon as I return."

"Then you're taking us with you?" Benji beamed and Holmes was forced to smile.  
"Yes, as I said to Angel I am not so blind as to appreciate the need for firm allies." Holmes grasped Benji's shoulder and squeezed.

"As I said be ready."

"We will be."

Holmes disappeared into the crowd. He knew that if he were ever to get into Tibet he needed help, and the best man to help him would be his brother. Perhaps he could get them special entry on government business, but then government officials were even less welcome than your ordinary man on the street. Still he had no choice but to try. He sent a quick telegram to Mycroft requesting any help he could give and for the reply to reach his agent in India who would then relay the message to Holmes. He sighed, he was exhausted, he was not sure he liked living the life of a fugitive, especially one at the beck and call of the British government. Still, it was better than being dead – or was it? He would not permit himself should brooding and melancholy thoughts, he didn't have the time. If her were alone perhaps it would be different but he was not alone, he had people that depended on him. It was a strange thought to Holmes to have anyone depend upon him. He had never experienced it before, no human being had ever needed him in the way that Angel and Benji seemed to. If he was honest with himself the thought repulsed him yet at the same time he was flattered. He permitted himself a thought of Watson – but it was brief. The only human being _he_ had ever relied on. He shook his head and made his way quickly back to the hotel. On his arrival he found Angel and Benji seated in the lobby surrounded by luggafe.

"That was quick." Holmes remarked with a smile as he spotted them.

"You said to be ready." Benji stood to face him, a mixture of seriousness and fear mixed up in his sparkling green eyes. Holmes placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Yes I did, thank you." Holmes picked up his coat and hat from the table and turned to them.

"Are we ready?"

Benji nodded and so did Angel, Holmes was about to leave when he paused.

"Where is Amrit?"

"He never came back." Angel's voice was quiet and filled with an unexpressed concern. Holmes noticed but he said nothing, they didn't have time.

"I'm sure he's fine." He tried to make his concern sincere but he was eager to be gone. Angel could do nothing so she merely nodded. "We need to go Angel."

"Yes."

Holmes sighed, he was regretting this already.


	12. Part Three Tibet Chapter one

**TIBET**

**Chapter One. Entry to the Forbidden Land.**

Telegram delivered to E. Sigerson, February 1896

ENTRY TO TIBET IMPOSSIBLE STOP CANNOT WORK MIRACLES STOP HAVE TRIED MY BEST TO GET YOU DIPLOMATIC ENTRY STOP YOU AND TWO OTHERS STOP INTRIGUING STOP DO NOT BE FOOLISH STOP RETURN ASAP STOP PAPERS TO FOLLOW STOP REGARDS M STOP

Holmes ran his eyes over the telegram once more before placing it securely in his coat pocket. They were staying in the home of a British official just outside the borders of Tibet, having been refused passage any further. He knew that news from Mycroft would not be good and he had expected the order to return home, but he had come this far and he needed to be certain that Moran and his men were not following; he needed the police to do their job before he could return home. However Tibet? Yes, he agreed with his brother it was foolish but he could not go back and the only way forward was Tibet. Besides the British had been secretly mapping Tibet since 1865, trained Indian surveyor-spies disguised as pilgrims or traders counted their strides on their travels across Tibet and took readings at night. Holmes could see no reason why he could not simply become an Indian trader, Benji too, Angel may prove more difficult but disguised correctly and kept out of harms way she too could get through. While he was pondering a way to get them in, Angel appeared at the door. She was dressed in a loose fitting night gown and her hair fell loosely about her shoulders. Holmes looked up as she entered,

"It's late Angel."

"I couldn't sleep, I saw the light on and came to see if you were alright."

"I'm perfectly fine."

"It's not going to work is it?" She asked, sitting on the chair Holmes had kicked out for her, sensing she was not going to leave.

"I don't know. I may have to think of something else and not rely on my…" Holmes paused, inwardly cursing himself for nearly giving the game away – and to nothing but a girl.

"Not rely on what?"

"Nothing, you should go back to bed."

"You are alright?" Angel asked, standing but not moving.

"I said I was now please go!" Holmes snapped at her, she looked at him with wide eyes but said nothing, turning from him she went to the door.

"Angel I'm sorry."

Holmes had stood and was staring at her. Without speaking Angel went to him and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Why is it so hard?" She whispered, burying her head into his chest.

"What?" Holmes murmured, holding her lightly and speaking over the top of her head.

"Tibet. Why are we shut out?"

Holmes smiled as he gently pushed her away from him and motioned for her to sit.

"Because Tibet is suspicious of all foreigners. The position of foreigners in Tibet is growing ever more tenuous. The British are encroaching from northern India into the Himalayas and Afghanistan and the Russian Empire from Central Asia, both are suspicious of the other's power in Tibet. Tibet is just protecting herself - doesn't make things any easier for us though."

In spite of Holmes' austere words Angel found herself smiling at him. There were no moments in life she liked better than when Holmes was talking to her as an equal, telling her things he thought she would understand. Whether she did or not it didn't matter, she was happy to just listen to his voice, watch his face as he spoke about things that were important to him, marvel as his mind worked over things she would never understand. She felt a part of his world when he spoke to her like this.

"Where is Benji?" Holmes asked, breaking her out of her thoughts.

"Asleep."

"Leave him so until I figure out a way to get us moving again." Having said this, Holmes stood and stretched himself, sighing as he did so.

"And now you must away to bed yourself Angel, we shall need all our strength for the coming days."

Angel nodded and turned to leave him,

"Are you not going?"

Holmes looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.

"Yes, in a minute."

Angel smiled and left him, turning at the foot of the stairs; she saw him take the telegram from his pocket once more and re-read it, sitting down as he did so. She sighed, suddenly afraid that Holmes was pushing himself too hard, that it was not so long ago that he had fought off Moriarty in Switzerland and now was racing across India and Tibet to outrun the man's accomplices and perhaps his memory. She could not bear the thought of Holmes in pain. She watched him for a while until she was certain there was nothing she could do and went to her room. She slept fitfully and uneasily, visions of Holmes and poor Amrit flashing through her tormented mind.

The morning dawned cold and grey. Angel, Benji and Holmes had risen early. The papers Mycroft had promised had arrived and they were a miracle in themselves. They offered entry into Tibet and provided a guide, Tsering, who was an envoy of the British government and would lead them as far as he could into Tibet and away from Moran's men. Holmes marveled at the power his brother wielded from so far away but sensed there was more to this sudden grant of entry than at first seemed. The horses were loaded and a small group of Tsering's men assembled who would help them on their journey. Holmes took Tsering to one side,

"Where are we headed?"

"Away Sir, as you requested." Tsering was a broad man, with long black hair and eyes that spoke of a quiet intelligence, his body bore signs of a life lived in dangerous situations and harsh environments but he had a gentle way with him that Holmes admired.

"Away where and to whom?"

"Sir?"

Tsering feigned ignorance but Holmes could see through it.

"You know there is someone who has requested my presence and has gone through my brother to get it – who is it?"

"Life would be very dull sir if we always knew where we were headed."

Holmes smiled and patted Tsering's shoulder.

"Spoken like a true philosopher."

Tsering returned the smile and barked a command in Tibetan to the waiting men who, at his word, mounted their horses and helped Benji and Angel onto theirs. Holmes also mounted and winked at Angel whose very expression told of her fear. She smiled at Holmes who clicked his tongue and moved his horse forward, Angel and Benji followed suit and soon they were on their way. A small group of travellers, dressed as traders, Angel had been disguised as a young Indian boy, travelling with Holmes and Benji, who were disguised as Indian traders. They made a bedraggaled and wearisome bunch but beneath the cloak of all beat a heart that was brave and steadfast. Although they had only just met they would have given theior lives for the other. Tsering was the only one who knew Holmes' true identity but still there was something in Holmes' manner that demanded respect and admiration and all who followed him that day into Tibet felt that he was a great man and would have traveled to the ends of the earth to protect him if he had asked it of them.


	13. Chapter 2 The Mission

**Chapter Two. The Mission**

The landscape of Tibet was cruel and harsh. It took them many days to travel to the residence of the Dalai Lama where they were expected. Of course Benji and Angel were not aware this is where they were headed, were not aware that Mycroft had sent Holmes on a 'job' to make use of him if he persisted in pursuing on, which in Mycroft's words was, a 'fools mission'. Holmes had decided not to tell them to prevent more questions. He often rode off by himself during the day while Angel and Benji remianed at camp. Tsering kept them there at Holmes' request; he did not want to involve them in his brother's work. There were limits to how far one could trust another being – and yet, as Holmes often thought – he was more than willing to trust Tsering. The thought disturbed him somewhat but he reflected that Tsering was necessary for him to get through Tibet and perhaps one day return home; Benji and Angel were mere inconveniences.

He was lost in this thought when Benji interrupted him with a cough. The day was waning and the air was chill, Holmes had wandered off, the constant noise from the camp aggravating his nerves. He preferred the cool air that the Tibetan night offered him and his own company was more than sufficient.

"I'm sorry sir, to interrupt you."

Holmes glanced up, vaguely wondering when it was that Benji had begun calling him sir.

"What is it Benji?"

"Tsering says he has something you need to see, he says we are close."

Holmes stood, ignoring Benji's questioning glance.

"Why are we here ?"

Holmes shot him a look.

"Sorry, Mr. Sigerson. There are easier ways to avoid Colonel Moran than trekking through Tibet."

"Did it ever occur to you Benji that I wanted to visit Tibet? You must admit that the Himalayas were a sight not to be missed."

"Agreed sir, but you would endure such risks simply to view a thing of beauty?"

"There are many things a man may do for a thing of beauty." Holmes replied quietly.

Benji eyed him curiously but said nothing, he followed Holmes back into the camp and stood a way behind him as he conversed with Tsering.

"His holiness will send an envoy to escort us to our place of residence. When there you will be presented to the Dalai Lama."

Holmes nodded.

"how long am I expected to stay?"

"One month, then I am to escort you back into India and put you on a boat back to London."

Holmes put his hands on his hips and nodded.

"At the instruction of my brother?"

"Yes."

He nodded again.

"Very well. When is this envoy expected to arrive?"

"Within the hour." Tsering paused to stroke the soft hair of the horse he was holding, "Mr. Sigerson I do not mean to be presumptive but do you not think that it would be a good thing to tell your companions of your plans?"

Holmes bit a nail and looked at Tsering with such intensity that he was forced to look away.

After a moment of silence, Holmes sighed.

"Yes you are right. I will tell them."

With a flourish of his coat, Holmes left Tsering and motioned to Benji to follow him.

"I need to talk to you. Where is Angel?"

"In her tent sir."

Holmes looked at him as if to question him but decided now was not the time. He stalked off to Angel's tent and asked quietly if she would permit him entrance, she appeared at the entrance and smiled.

"Of course."

Holmes avoided her eyes, still finding her attention embarrassing and sat down. He asked them to do the same. Holmes coughed before proceeding, deciding that a direct approach would be best.

"We have been travelling in Tibet for over a month now and you may be wondering why we are here. I will tell you, I am sorry to have kept you in the dark for so long but I felt it was necessary. We came here originally because I wanted to be as far as possible from Moran and his men, I have been given my life back and I do not intend to give it up to so unworthy a man as he, we gained access to this country because of my brother, who he is and what he does is of no concern to you, suffice it to say that in his own circles he is a very important man. He got us access but at a price. He wants me to converse with the Dali Lama to negotiate the release of two of our men who were surveying the land here under government orders. They were discovered and taken into captivity, I am here to bring them home."

Angel and Benji sat in silence, either from shock or awe of the man they were travelling with, neither could be quite sure.

"What will happen if you do not succeed?" Angel asked.  
"I will."

She smiled, reassured by his confidence.

"And then?" Benji asked, a colour of concern tingeing his voice.

"And then we return to England and Angel returns to Florence."

"Return!" Angel's voice was high and strained, Benji took her hand without thinking and she immediately quietened. Holmes took the briefest of glances towards their joined hands before continuing.

"Yes Angel, return. What did you think would happen?"

"I…I don't know."

Holmes sighed and stood.

"An envoy is coming to take us to our new place of residence. Be ready, you have one hour."

Benji and Angel nodded, feeling like small and stupid children in the eyes of this great man that had condescended to bring them along. With those sharp words he disappeared. Angel closed her eyes, attempting to regain her thoughts, while Benji paced like a caged animal.

"He doesn't want us here." He said, suddenly stopping and turning to face him.

"He has no choice."

"Still we could go."

"Don't be ridiculous." Angel flared, the thought of leaving Holmes more than she could bare and the thought of going alone through this treacherous country filled her with fear, "How do you expect us to navigate such a place as this? We would be dead within minutes."

"You don't want to leave him." Benji took Angel's arm as she stood to leave.

"I don't want to leave either of you, he may not want us but what did you expect? Did you think he _liked_ you?" Angel spat the word out with contempt, "He likes no-one, we annoy him with our slowness, our emotions, the way we feel for him, it all annoys him. We would both be better off had we never met him."

Angel had never sounded so bitter; her eyes had taken on a steely glitter that Benji had never seen in them before.

"What has he done to you?" He whispered.

She glared at him before grabbing her bag from the floor and running out into the open air, tears stinging her eyes.

* * *


	14. Chapter 3 Arrival

**Chapter Three**

The camp was packed up and they were made ready. Angel sat astride her horse, not looking at either Benji or Holmes but focusing her gaze forward. She stared at the head in front of her. Tsering. He was barking orders at the men and gradually they began to move forward. She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream out that she had had enough and she wanted to go home, but she was aware that Benji was watching her, he seemed to know what she was thinking and it disturbed her, she let herself glance towards Holmes. He too was astride his horse, but he looked as unlike the Holmes she knew as it was possible to imagine. But it was still him, the eyes were still his, the bearing and the calm presence were still his. She tore her gaze away and focused in the movement of her horse as they began to move. There was something different about their movement today, the usual jovial chatter of the men as they travelled had gone, all were silent. She looked around her, perhaps they knew that this was no ordinary journey, that the men who had arrived to accompany them were no ordinary men, that today they were destined for great things.

They had travelled for perhaps an hour when there was a flurry of movement ahead and a gate that Angel had not noticed, opened in front of them and they were greeted by yet more men. Holmes disembarked and conversed in Tibetan with the first man that approached him. Angel watched and wondered if Holmes could blend seamlessly into any culture if he so chose. Before she could reach a conclusion she was interrupted by the sound of his voice. She looked up and saw him motioning to her to follow, she glanced at Benji who avoided her eyes. She sighed, he was still hurting from her comments about Holmes. She didn't realise it before but Benji was in complete awe of Holmes and for Angel to shatter his dreams was heartless of her. They both approached the gate which Holmes had passed through, instinctively Benji took her arm.

"I'm sorry." She whispered as they were ushered past guards and officals.

"For what?"

"For saying those things about..." She paused, not wanting to say Holmes but unwilling also to say Sigerson.

"You were right." He whispered back, his eyes steely and his voice tense.

"I was angry." She said, hoping that would suffice as an explanation.

"He is a complicated man, it was stupid of us to imagine that we could be anything at all to him."

She stopped, shocked by his words, scared to hear her own thoughts spoken back to her by another.

"Come on." He commanded. She obeyed without a word and before they could say more, they were brought into a large room, decorated with simple flowers and inhabited by only a few men, Angel was so transfixed that she almost collided with Holmes' back. He turned as he became aware of them.

"I need to work now, you will be shown to your rooms and I will join you later for dinner." Angel noticed that he had discarded his disguise and resembled the Holmes she had known in Florence, if a little ruddier.

"We cannot stay?" She asked.

"No, I do not want you any more involved than you are already. I cannot lose..." He trailed off, still holding Angel's gaze. After a moment he motioned to Tsering, who had entered with them and gave him instructions to escort them both out. Tsering nodded and stood to one side to allow them to follow. Benji did without a word or a look towards Holmes, Angel watched him go then looked back towards Holmes. She could think of nothing to say.

"I am sorry." She said, rather pointlessly. Holmes stared at her retreating back as she followed Benji and Tsering, it was only when the man at his side touched his arm that Holmes remembered where he was. Clearing his throat, he followed the man into the presence of the Dalai Lama and attempted to arrange his thoughts into some sort of order. Angel would have to be dealt with later.


	15. Chapter 4 Dinner and Departures

**Chapter Four. Dinner and Departures.**

Benji watched Angel sleeping and he was amazed at how peaceful she looked. He had not slept properly since they had left Florence. They had been in the Dalai Lama's quarters for almost two weeks and negotiations were still going strong. Benji had no idea what these negotiations were, nor was he sure he wanted to know. They rarely saw Holmes and when they did he said little and stayed only a short while. Benji noticed that Angel was deteriorating; the harsh Tibetan climate did not suit this young Italian girl, so used to sunshine and warmth. She sank daily and Benji was the only one who seemed to notice. She did brighten when she saw Holmes, as if she drew strength from his presence, but he never stayed long enough for there to be any lasting benefit.

Angel had been asleep all day, the heat was excruciating but Benji had not moved from her side. As he held her loose hand in his own, his eyes barely focusing; Holmes walked in and almost fell in to the chair at the bottom of Angel's bed, it was as if he did not know they were there, without acknowledging either of them he moved his hand over his eyes and rested his chin on his chest. Benji was past caring what Holmes did, Angel was fading and he couldn't see it, Benji was angry that Holmes seemed to be ignoring the situation.

"How is she?" Holmes' voice was low but Benji was jolted into consciousness by it.

"I didn't think you had noticed." Benji knew he was being unreasonable but he was so desperate that he would even anger a man such as Sherlock Holmes to ensure Angel received the help she needed.

"I notice everything Benji. I repeat, how is she?"

Benji sighed.

"She's been asleep all day, she's not eating and her breathing is laboured. I'm beginning to think it is something other than just fatigue."

Holmes sat up and gazed at the sleeping girl with something Benji thought, passed for worry in his grey eyes.

"The negotiations will not take much longer and then we can leave, the sooner she is away from here the better."

Benji watched as Holmes walked over to Angel and placed a hand gently on her brow, she shifted in her sleep and almost smiled, she responded to Holmes' touch like she never had to Benji's, all the time he had sat by her side! Rage welled up inside him, this man, whoever he was, ignored her, berated her, shouted at her and still she adored him. Benji felt jealousy sweep through his entire body and he let her hand drop. Holmes glanced at him.

"Join us for dinner this evening; you can't be cooped up in here all day."

"I won't leave her," Benji almost snarled, avoiding the detective's eyes.

"Your loyalty to the girl does you credit Benji but I cannot save you both."

Benji whirled around, his eyes full of fire.

"No-one's asking you to save us, I can look after us! I don't need you saving me!" Benji shouted, knocking Holmes out of the way to rush past him outside. The stifling air hit him and he choked on a sob but he didn't stop running. He ran until he reached the outskirts of their settlement, angry and juvenile tears streaming down his face. He loved her, he was so in love with her it was killing him and she loved no-one but that bastard Holmes! He couldn't bear it, couldn't bear losing her to him. He fell to his knees from pure exhaustion and rested his head on the cool ground. His breathing was coming in short gasps and he felt sick.

"Benji." He nearly died at the sound of his name, still on his knees he turned around and gasped. Holmes. He had followed him, but damn the man he didn't even look out of breath!

"Benji I'm sorry," he said simply, falling to his knees beside him, "I should have seen it."

"What?" Benji raised an eyebrow at him, still trying desperately to control his erratic breathing.

"You're in love with her."

Benji cleared his throat and looked away. Damn the man to hell! He could see he was in love with her but was oblivious to the fact she was in love with him!

"It makes no difference."

"It makes every difference, I have not been around and the woman you love is ill," he paused, "Perhaps gravely so."

Benji looked up.

"What do you mean?"

"You were right, it is more than fatigue, she is ill. I don't know with what, we need to leave."

"But the negotiations."

"The negotiations are practically finished and anyway it was brother's errand and I am not controlled by him."

The look in Holmes' eyes made Benji think otherwise but he said nothing.

"When?"

"Tonight, after dinner. I will tell his Holiness now that we intend to leave. He is a good man, he will not stop us."

"You're sure?" Benji asked, uncertain of the power that Holmes wielded in this strange land.

"Yes. Get her ready as best you can, come to dinner at six and be ready to leave at nightfall."

"Is travelling through the night a good idea? Shouldn't we wait until morning?"

Holmes' entire demeanour changed, his back stiffened and his eyes glazed over, walking over to him he took Benji by the shoulders and looked so deep into his eyes that Benji felt he could see into his soul.

"Tomorrow will be too late."

Benji felt himself crumble but was held up by Holmes.

"Come, go back to her," gently Holmes wiped a tear away from Benji's cheek that he hadn't even known was falling, "You must be strong for her Benji. If you love her, you will be."

Benji nodded and watched as Holmes disappeared the way he had come. He watched him go; he could understand why she loved him. More tears fell in fury to follow the first and Benji began to run. Angel, she was alone and he needed her. The tears blurred his vision as he ran but he carried on until he reached her room, breathless and covered in dust that stuck to his tears. He flung himself around the door and was faced with the same view that he had seen for days, she was asleep, lying there unconscious ready to die. Benji dropped to his knees beside her bed and sobbed until he felt his heart break.

He had washed and dressed Angel as best he could and had packed their things. All was ready. He waited for Holmes outside his room, uncomfortable in his shirt and worried about leaving Angel. Holmes appeared wearing a clean suit, after all their time travelling it was unusual for Benji to remember that they were Englishmen and this is what they were supposed to wear.

"Strange isn't it?" Holmes smiled, answering his thoughts.

"very." Benji replied, tugging at his collar. Holmes laughed gently.

"It won't be for long, we will change before we leave, we just need to get this dinner out of the way."

"Why is it so formal? This isn't how we usually have dinner."

Holmes took Benji by the arm and they began to walk.

"Because, my dear boy, this is the end and they know it. We are leaving, the negotiations are at an end , the British government have what they want." There was bitterness to his tone and the slight tensing of his arm on Benji's showed how angry this agreement, whatever it was, had made him. Benji coughed, it seemed to bring Holmes back to his senses.

"Is Angel ready?"

"Yes and all our bags are packed. Are we going alone?" Benji asked, wondering about the men they had arrived with.

"No, Tsering will escort us back to the border with India; from there we are on our own."

Benji felt his head swimming, how were they to get her help?

"But you said Angel is desperately ill, she may not last that long."

"She will. I have told Tsering of our situation and he is with her now, he will do what he can."

Holmes shot Benji a quick smile and he felt himself smiling back. He should have confided in Holmes a long time ago.

"You know she's in love with you."

Holmes nodded but said nothing.

"And that's why I couldn't come to you, I was so jealous. It's my fault if she…if she…" He couldn't bring himself to say the word.

"She won't."

Before Benji had time to argue they were greeted by a servant and ushered into dinner. For the next two hours, neither could say anything of what they were really thinking but their thoughts were constantly on the journey ahead and the girl with the sparkling eyes.

* * *

_I'm sooo sorry it's taken me a lifetime to update!! Thank you to anyone still reading this story!! We're nearly at the end I promise!!_


	16. Chapter 5 The Journey Home

**Chapter Five. The Journey Home.**

Benji carried Angel to the horses, she was conscious, but barely, she drifted in and out and whispered things that he could not make out. She was sick, maybe Holmes was right, that any delay on their part would lead to her death. He held her tighter against his chest. Holmes was ahead of him, preparing a cart that would carry Angel and their bags to the border where Tsering would leave them and they would be alone.

Benji looked at Holmes as he handed Angel over to him and noticed the look he gave her, a look that lasted slightly longer than was necessary. Benji blinked as the dust from the dry road beneath his feet swept up in the slight morning breeze. When he looked again, Angel was safely in the cart and Holmes was astride his horse looking at him peculiarly. Benji swung himself up to the front of the cart and clicked the reins, slowly the horses began to move and they were away. He wanted to glance back at the palace, but he wasn't sure what he would see. All was darkness anyway and the place had not held happy memories for him. He gritted his teeth and pulled harder on the reins, he wasn't aware that Holmes had appeared next to him, it was only when he coughed that Benji noticed him.

"Are you alright?" Holmes asked, Benji smiled he could swear there was a hint of concern there.

"I'm just worried about her."

Holmes simply nodded.

"Are you?" He broached the question carefully; he knew Holmes was a man who kept things close to his chest.

"A little"

Holmes clicked his teeth and his horse moved forward leaving Benji to watch his retreating figure and the early morning sun darkened and rain spilled from the darkening clouds like the tears Benji was afraid to shed.

The morning passed into afternoon and still they travelled, the rain had ceased and the sun was warm, Benji felt sleepy and his grip on the reins began to slacken as his head slowly tilted toward his chest and his eyes closed. He was exhausted with worry, Angel had remained unconscious for most of the journey, they had stopped every so often for Tsering to administer the medicine he was giving her, a dark brown liquid that made her splutter and cough. Every time Tsering would look up at him and smile.

"Will do her only good." He always said to Benji's questioning stare. Holmes remained impassive and silent as if he were working through some unknown problem. As they reached the border with India, Tsering prepared to leave them and he spent many hours with Holmes when they stopped to rest conversing in Tibetan while Benji watched over Angel. It was on the last of these stops that Angel began to wake.

Benji was sitting beside her stroking her damp hair watching as Holmes and Tsering debated in a language he couldn't understand when her eyes began to flutter, she tried to make a sound to get him to look at her but she couldn't so she lay there, her mind slowly returning to her while this strange boy stroked her with his clever hands. Eventually she managed to move her arm and she touched him, he jumped and looked down at her, a smile slowly illuminating his features. She thought he looked different, scared, as if he hadn't slept in weeks. She smiled back at him.

"Where are we?" she asked, her voice low and strained.

"Nearly in India, we're taking you home."

It was stupid, he thought as he answered her, he couldn't think of anything to say. He had waited for this moment for so long, had dreamed every night as he held her unconscious body of what he would say to her, but now as her beautiful eyes gazed into his, searching for answers, he could not find anything to say. Before anything came to mind, Holmes was standing over them, his long shadow shielding Angel's eyes from the sun, her smile grew wider.

"Hello." He said simply, she smiled a smile that illuminated her features and tried to sit up but fell back gasping. Holmes kneeled down beside her and took her hand. He looked deep into her eyes,

"do not try to move, you are not yet strong enough. Angel listen to me, Tsering has cured you but are not yet completely healed, we need to make up the medicine that he has been giving you and get you back to Florence but it won't be easy and you need to be strong. I believe you can do it."

He stared at her, his face impassive and she gazed back, her white face seeming to stand out amongst their tanned skin. She nodded as she leaned against Benji's chest.

"I can do it." Her voice was low and came out in rasps from months of disuse. She coughed a little and Benji gripped her harder. Holmes smiled and released her hand.

"Good girl. Tsering wants to say goodbye and then we are into India and on our way home."

Quite whose home he meant, Benji could not work out but Angel had closed her eyes again. Holmes glanced at him to follow. Laying Angel gently down back in the cart, he followed Holmes as Tsering went to Angel for the last time.

"I have enough money to get us through India, it will not be difficult. The men who were following me have been detained. I am free." He paused; as if this revelation were a little too overwhelming for him to fully comprehend.

"What will you do?" Benji asked as they stood in the shade, out of the corner of his eye he could see Tsering talking closely with Angel.

"I don't know." Holmes replied, his finger tracing his lower lip.

"Go home? To London?" Benji had not thought of England in a long time, but now it seemed like heaven to him.

"No, not yet. I'm not ready, London is not ready…but soon." Silence filled the air and Benji did not want to move in case he disturbed the strange peace that had overcome them. Holmes turned to Benji and smiled, "What about you? Will you marry her?"

Holmes gestured towards Angel.

"I don't know if she would except even if I could find the courage to ask her." Benji followed Holmes' gaze and sighed.

"Whatever it is she feels for me will fade." Holmes said, turning to face him, "She will soon realise it is you she loves."

"I wonder."

"She will Benji and I firmly believe you will lead a long and happy life together."

Benji smiled at him and nodded.

"Now, it would appear that Tsering has finished his goodbyes so we must be off."

Holmes put an arm around Benji's shoulder and suddenly he felt tired, he wanted Holmes to take control and lead them all home, he wanted to lie down next to Angel and sleep. They approached Tsering who grasped Benji's hand and smiled.

"Goodbye." He said warmly.

"Goodbye." Benji replied, shocked at how emotional he suddenly felt. With one final grip, Tsering let go and turned to Holmes. Smiling, he bowed, a bow which Holmes returned. They grasped hands and stayed that way, looking into each other's eyes, some unknown message passing between them before they let go. With a last look in Angel's direction, he mounted his horse and was gone.


	17. Chapter 6 Goodbye

**Chapter Six. Goodbye.**

The road back into some sort of civilised India was long, the heat was unbearable and the road was dusty. Angel grew steadily as they travelled but she was pale and weak. Holmes seemed to take it all in his stride, and Benji marvelled at him. He had never known the power of the man until now, all this time wasted in being jealous of him when he should have been watching, learning. They were approaching Bombay and soon it would be time for them to decide what would happen next, who would say goodbye and who they would say it to.

Bombay was full of people; Benji had never seen so many in his life, all rushing to be somewhere. They pulled up in front of a hotel and Holmes went inside to procure a room for the night, they were all travel weary and in need of rest so it was agreed that one more night together where decisions could be made and recuperation could be had was needed. Benji jumped down and soothed the tired horses, unhitching them from the cart as Holmes reappeared and instructed a boy to take them and stable them somewhere for the night. As they disappeared, Holmes went to Angel, who had been asleep for the majority of the journey, not even the bustle of millions had not woken her, and lifted her swiftly into his arms. Benji smiled, he no longer felt pangs of jealousy but gratitude, without this remarkable man they would surely have died. He followed him into the coolness of the hotel foyer and up the marble stairs to a room that was being cleaned by a small woman who looked as if she had known no other world than the hotel she cleaned. Holmes spoke to her in a language Benji could not understand and the woman smiled, bowed and disappeared. Holmes lay Angel down on the bed and felt her forehead. He grunted and went to the window to pull the curtain across. He turned and almost jumped to find Benji standing behind him, the surprise softened into a smile.

"She is fine," Holmes said firmly, grasping Benji's shoulders and looking into his eyes, "Really, she just needs rest. Tomorrow we will _all _take the train out of India and towards Italy. I will return with you to Florence, somehow explain to Angel's father all that has happened before deciding what my life is to be."

As he said this, he turned his head to face Angel and Benji thought he heard the smallest of sighs. Benji could not speak, he was sure Holmes was going to leave them to navigate their own way back to Italy, he should have known better.

"Have you not yet decided if you will return to England?" Benji asked as Holmes released him and all but fell into a chair near the bed. Holmes ran a hand over his face and looked towards the ceiling.

"No I haven't. I long to return but I am not sure if the time is right. Perhaps it has been too long."

"I am sure your family will be overjoyed to have you returned." Benji pressed, not really sure what Holmes' family situation was. Holmes smiled gently.

"I have none, only my brother and he already knows I am well," Holmes paused, his hand hovering in mid air as he brought it away from his face and his eyes took on a dreamy look, "There may be one other person who would be glad of my return but then again…"

His voice trailed off until only the sound of Angel's laboured breathing could be heard, she coughed gently and this seemed to rouse Holmes who glanced towards her before standing.

"Poor girl," he muttered almost under his breath, "I regret what I have done to her, to you both."

"We were both dead until we met you, existing but we did not who we were. Now, because of you we do." Benji stared at Angel suddenly feeling much older; so much had changed since Florence. He thought of his childhood in England, his posting to Florence, how scared he had felt then paled in comparison to the fear he felt now, looking down on the woman he loved.

"You would die for her would you not?" Holmes asked, his voice calm and steady against Benji's tumult of emotions. He could do nothing but nod.

"Then protect her, love her, that is enough. When I am gone she will need you."

Holmes made to leave but Benji grasped his arm.

"I need you."

Holmes smiled and moved his arm from Benji's grasp.

"You may think you do but I have never met a man who I believed in more." He looked into Benji's eyes for a moment before moving toward the door, before leaving he turned, "well, maybe once."

With a wink, Holmes left a stunned Benji alone, the noise from the street meaning nothing to him and barely penetrating. After what seemed to him an eternity he went to Angel on the bed and lay next to her. Placing an arm on her waist he felt the steady rhythm of her breathing and before long he fell asleep, the fading sunlight producing shadows that danced and played around the sleeping lovers.

Day came and the warmth of it brought Benji to his senses, he looked down to see Angel's sleeping face. He smiled; she had moved in the night and now lay on her back, her face turned away from the harsh sunlight. Benji watched her and felt more peaceful than he had done in months. As he stared there was a small knock at the door, with a brief glance at Angel he stood, straightened his crumpled clothes and opened the door. A man he barely recognised stood smiling at him.

"Mr. Holmes." Benji breathed as Holmes flounced into the room.

"_Mr_. Holmes?" Holmes laughed gently, "It must be the suit."

It was indeed the suit, Holmes was dressed in a cream linen suit with a silk tie and traveller's hat, he looked rested and nourished as he stood smiling inanely at Benji who could only stare.

"You look marvellous Mr. Holmes."

Holmes laughed again.

"Thank you Benji, it is rather marvellous what food, rest and a clean suit can do for one is it not? Speaking of which." He clicked his fingers and two men and a woman appeared at the door carrying clothes and other assorted things that Benji deduced would be used to get them clean. Benji smiled.

"For us?"

"For you. Wake Angel and tell her this lady is here to clean and dress her, I will send food up to her and then we will be on our way. A carriage is to pick us up at 11."

"A carriage?" Benji gasped as he went to rouse Angel who groaned sleepily at his touch.

"Yes, I am bored of travelling in dusty carts with horses who have seen better days I wish to travel in style. I feel we have all earned it."

Benji smiled as Angel woke and smiled up at him. This Holmes was new, optimistic, and even more brilliant than Holmes the detective. This Holmes made you want to live.

As Benji explained to Angel what was happening Holmes had again disappeared. Benji allowed himself to be led out by the two men into another room, which from the various paraphernalia he saw lying about, deduced was Holmes'. The man ceremonially proceeded to strip and bathe him, he let them do it without hesitation, he wasn't sure why. It felt nice to be taken care of, for so long he had worried about Angel, about Holmes, about getting home, for now it was comfortable to let these men dress him as if he were a child. He thought of Florence, was that home now? If that were Angel was going then it supposed it would be. But England? He had never thought of England much, having been a poor East ender he never missed the little he had left behind. But now? Now he knew that was where Holmes was heading he felt pulled back towards his home land. He had travelled so much that the prospect of a house, a fire, slippers, all that went in to being English seemed heavenly to him. He pictured himself in a house in the East end, nothing grand, just a two up, two down, with Angel and maybe a dog. Maybe he would take up smoking a pipe; Holmes did make it look so very elegant…As he was dreaming the man at his elbow grunted something and he looked down. The two men bowed and retreated through the door. Benji was alone. Looking at himself in the glass he barely recognised the man standing before him. He smiled as he realised that was what he had become, a man.

"What in heaven's name takes women so long?" Holmes flicked his cigarette ash onto his saucer and frowned at the morning sunlight. They had been waiting for Angel for almost half an hour and the carriage had arrived ten minutes before. Benji smiled but said nothing. Their bags had been packed and had gone on ahead of them to the port to be loaded on to the boat that would take them back to Italy. Holmes had chosen a long sea voyage as he decided that a rest, almost a holiday as he described it, would do them all good. Benji could only agree. Just as Holmes sighed in exasperation once again, there was a fuss in the foyer, followed by a multitude of gasps. Holmes and Benji stood to greet Angel who looked breathtakingly beautiful in a white chiffon dress that hung loosely about her shoulders and complimented her slim figure. Her face glowed from rest and her eyes sparkled with hope. Benji could feel tears forming in his eyes but he did not let them shed. Holmes smiled as she reached out her hand for him. He went to her, took it, bowed and kissed it. She smiled back. Benji could not move. She saw him and walked over to him, throwing her arms around his neck she breathed into his shoulder. He felt his arms come up to hold her back but still his feet would not move. When she pulled away there were tears in her eyes. Holmes coughed,

"We must be going."

Angel nodded and allowed herself to be led to the carriage; Holmes helped her inside before turning to Benji.

"Benji?"

At the sound of his voice, Benji snapped back to attention and ran to Holmes who smiled and slapped him on the shoulder before jumping in the carriage himself.

The voyage back to Italy was pleasant. The sea air lifted their spirits and healed their bodies. They danced, ate and laughed as if they were different people, this Holmes was not Sherlock Holmes the detective from London, he was their friend, their mentor. The man that drank and smoked with Benji and talked of the future as the stars rolled past an endless ocean, he was the man Angel had loved for the first time in her life, and the man who saved her, who danced with her long into the night as the orchestra played a waltz in the background. The man she would love until she died. He was the man who encouraged Benji and Angel in their romance, convinced them that they belonged together and was as proud as a father when Benji had announced their engagement one night at dinner. And then just as suddenly as it began it was over. They were back in Florence, Angel's father had wept as he saw them, proclaimed Holmes a brother for saving his little girl and wept once more as Angel had told of her engagement to Benji.

One night as the boarding house slept, Sherlock Holmes took his leave. He left a note and a bunch of wild flowers on the kitchen table telling how he had decided to go back to England, to face his past and the people he had left behind, that he loved them and was grateful to them for making what seemed like the end of his world into just the beginning. He wished them well and hoped he would see them again one day. When they had found the note the next morning, they had cried but Angel understood. She knew that this man who hated goodbyes truly loved them, he loved them enough to go without a goodbye, to leave them without tears and he had done it the only way he knew how. She wept as she married Benji, not because she did not love him but because the one man she had wanted there was not. He did not come. Not that she thought he would but still….the memory of Sherlock Holmes was ever present in that corner of Florence where the sun was golden, throughout everything the family did was always the memory of the man that had saved them, the man that was so mysterious but famous, the man they read about in the Strand magazine that they had imported from England, the man they loved. Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

_That's it! The End. I hope that those of you still following this story have enjoyed it and I am grateful for your loyalty! I appreciate any criticism (good or bad) and reviews are always welcome. There will be an epilogue to follow. Thanks again - Elizabeth._


	18. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Sherlock Holmes did return to England and to his old friend Watson and soon settled into the ways of old that he had forgotten. The Sherlock Holmes that had existed in Italy was gone, pushed back into the mind of the great detective until soon he thought of that time, of Angel and Benji only in his dreams. He had never mentioned them to Watson; he could not bare the smile that he knew would break out on his face. Besides he quite liked keeping the memory secret, allowing Watson to invent his own version of Holmes 'hiatus' as he had rather melodramatically decide to term it.

It was late Spring of Holmes' third year back in London and the time of year when he always thought back to Italy and Florence in particular. Holmes and Watson were engaged in a particularly difficult case that was wearing Holmes down, Watson had suggested one evening that they take a walk in Regent's park, not one for pointless walks, reluctantly Holmes agreed. The park was certainly beautiful as the sunlight played on the water and a cool breeze blew the leaves of the solemn willow trees. Holmes and Watson walked in comfortable silence until Holmes suddenly stopped. Watson turned to face him.

"Everything alright old fellow?" He asked, guarding his eyes from the sun.

"Angel." Holmes whispered, so low that Watson was not sure he had heard him right. He followed his friend's gaze and smiled as he noticed the exotic looking woman sitting on the bench feeding the ducks not far ahead of them.

"Yes I suppose she does look rather angelic in this light doesn't she? Although that's rather romantic for you old chap."

Watson laughed as Holmes dashed past him to the girl on the bench; she turned as he approached her. The smile that broke upon her features was indeed angelic and she stood, arms outstretched. Holmes fell into them gratefully and held her as if his life depended upon it. Watson caught up with his friend almost unable to speak.

"Holmes!" He almost shouted, shocked at his usual calm and composed friend's behaviour. Holmes laughed as he released the girl.

"Watson this is a very dear friend of mine from my 'hiatus'" He winked sheepishly at the doctor who looked at him, baffled, "Angel, or Angelique. She is Italian."

Angel smiled, keeping hold of Holmes' hand she held out her other to the doctor who took it and bowed.

"A pleasure to meet you." He said, his eyes darting from his friend to this mysterious woman.

"Where is Benji?" Holmes asked, seemingly refusing to let go of angel's hand. Angel turned to look behind her and Holmes saw a man, carrying a small girl coming towards them, as he approached he passed the girl to Angel and almost flew into Holmes' arms. Holmes gripped him tightly.

"Benji." He whispered.

Releasing him, Holmes coughed and introduced him to Watson. Benji smiled and placed a protective arm around his young wife's waist. Watson insisted upon an explanation and together the young family, recently moved from Florence to the East end where the man of the house was employed as a sergeant at Scotland yard, walked back to Baker Street, laughing and smiling with the great detective and the good doctor as the sun set on the great and beautiful city of London.


End file.
